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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28268181">Don't Look Back</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cxcarmen/pseuds/cxcarmen'>cxcarmen</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood &amp; Manga</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Dissociation, Ed-centric, Found Family, Gaslighting, Grooming, Hurt/Comfort, Im very sorry for writing this, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, PTSD, Parental Maes Hughes, Parental Roy Mustang, Pedophilia, Physical Abuse, Rape Recovery, Sexual Abuse, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, alphonse is bi with a male lean. why? because i said so, edward elrics a+ coping skills, not a fun story guys, not yaoi or smut. this. is. abuse., please give edward a break 2020, shou tucker is a fucking creep, the ed and nina bonding time that the series robbed you of, this author is working through some stuff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:08:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>97,083</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28268181</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cxcarmen/pseuds/cxcarmen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ed and Al move into the Tucker home until Ed can pass his state alchemy exam. Shortly after they start living there, Ed finds himself in a difficult position, but is too scared to ask for help.</p><p>---</p><p>Edward stretched his hand out to the doorbell, gripped his suitcase with his automail, and held his breath like it could hold in his nerves as well. </p><p>His finger pressed the button. </p><p>Silence. Completely uninterrupted except for the high, drawn out chime that hung in the air. Had he known what was coming and been a man who believed in God, he might've considered it a message from the deity to run while he still could. Ask him later and he might tell you that standing there on the porch, his brother by his side, his anxiety fluttering in his chest, was the start to another period of his life where things went wrong. </p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alphonse Elric &amp; Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric &amp; Edward Elric &amp; Nina Tucker, Edward Elric &amp; Nina Tucker, Edward Elric &amp; Roy Mustang, Edward Elric &amp; Shou Tucker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>221</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>312</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'd just like to put here that this story mixes some elements of the beginning of 03 and the beginning of BH. You don't have to have seen them both to understand the story, but there are going to be certain aspects that fit into neither timeline, as I'm trying to work within the framework of two different plots. So consider this a little bit of an AU, but also within the possibility of canon. I hope that makes sense. With that, let's get this show on the road. </p><p>Also please take the trigger warnings seriously. There might be certain things I put in the notes rather than the tags because they're already getting like a mile long, but everything tagged is there for a reason. If you're not in a healthy mind space to read this sort of material, please save this story for when you are, or at least take breaks when you need them.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Suitcase in hand and his brother by his side, Ed stared at the Tucker estate. </p><p>“So, I guess this is home for now,” Al said.</p><p>It wasn’t. Their home was a burnt pile of rubble that sat on an empty plot of land in Risembool. Their home was with each other, and with their mother in their memories. Al may have phrased his words  like a statement, but Ed saw it for what it really was; asking for permission. An underlying question to Ed of whether or not it was okay to call it that. </p><p>But Ed’s opinion wasn’t what got them here. For that one, they could thank the Amestrian government. To the authorities, they weren’t alchemical prodigies until they proved themselves. They were orphans. Up until recently when Mustang sat them down and explained that unless they wanted foster care, they needed a guardian asap, Ed was accepting of that. (Although it still stung, when he saw kids his age at the park, how they hug their fathers and get scolded by their mothers. The rage that boiled in his stomach at the knowledge that Al would never get that, the envy that seeped through when Ed realized he wouldn't either.)</p><p>Luckily for them, Shou Tucker volunteered to adopt them for the time being. </p><p>They were already planning on living with the man and he had enough money to take care of them until Ed had a paycheck of his own. Ed knew it was for formalities, just so he and his brother wouldn't be thrown into some backwater orphanage until they were of age, but it still felt weird.</p><p>Well, the orphanage idea relied on whether or not they could catch the brothers and keep them pinned for that amount of time, which was pretty unrealistic, in Ed’s opinion. </p><p>He’d still rather not have to spend his life on the run, though, and he needed a guardian for certain aspects of his coming job. That meant having someone on paper. And while Mustang could pull many strings, he had said that <em> "Violating the law to that extent was not in his repertoire." </em></p><p>Ed felt he was lying through his teeth- Or, well, annoying smirk- Just to be an asshole, but the man refused to cave when he saw <em> "a more simple solution." </em></p><p>Fucking bastard. </p><p>It was better than the alternative, though. Ed didn't exactly feel like testing his luck with the Amestris's foster care system. It would be easier in the long run if his guardian was somebody who would keep his kid-leash loose, too. Mustang had been on the edge of throwing the towel in and adopting them himself, which is why Ed asked about Tucker. No fucking way was he going to be that lazy, egotistical, absolutely insufferable, frankly crusty as hell, asshole’s child. Even if it was just on paper. He’d rather eat his own automail and deal with Winry’s wrench for it than be Edward Mustang-Elric.</p><p>So, in a moment of rational thinking that Ed, contrary to popular belief, was very capable of, he caved. He just needed to hold out until he passed his exam. After that, he could find a way to vouch for being an adult. </p><p>Still, something about it felt wrong, something he couldn't quite shake it off. Being adopted wasn’t something he would’ve wanted nor considered under normal circumstances. The whole idea threw him off. He was naturally independent. His real father was a cowardly bastard and he honestly felt no desire for round two, even if it was only temporary, even if it was for formalities. </p><p>But it wasn’t like Tucker <em> actually </em> saw him as a son. Him agreeing wasn’t personal and it didn’t mean anything. He was making this into a big deal when it <em> wasn’t </em>. It was just for the next three months. After that, he could start searching for the stone, be completely financially independent, and he’d only visit if he wanted to. </p><p>The thought that he would leave before Tucker could made him feel a bit better. </p><p>"Are you ready?"</p><p>Al’s voice was as tentative as he felt. </p><p>Ed gazed up at the Tucker estate once more and took in how the building seemed to loom above him, how tiny he felt in comparison, how everything about it made his stomach form knots so intricate he wondered if they'd ever come undone.</p><p>It was huge. Growing up in the country, most of the properties were more farmland than house, so unlike the mansions that decorated the richer parts of Central. The estate had a high-class, wealthy feel that he honestly couldn't relate to in the slightest.</p><p>But he took a step forward and swallowed his inhibitions. They were sickly sweet, disgusting medicine on the way down. It made him feel better, to ignore them- Or it was <em> supposed </em>to make him feel better, but it honestly wasn’t working and the process was anything but pleasant. </p><p>He stretched his hand out to the doorbell, gripped his suitcase with his automail, and held his breath like it could hold in his nerves as well. </p><p>His finger pressed the button. </p><p>Silence. Completely uninterrupted, except for the high, drawn out chime that hung in the air. Had he known what was coming and been a man who believed in God, he might've considered it a message from him to run while he still could. Ask him later, and he might also tell you that standing there on the porch, his brother by his side, his anxiety fluttering in his chest, was the start to another period of his life where things went wrong. </p><p>---</p><p>They were seated around the dinner table. Tucker had welcomed them in and brought out some sandwiches for lunch. He’d been informed of Al’s body, and had even let Ed eat his brother’s portion, which was shortly followed by another 7 extra sandwiches.</p><p>Tucker joked that he hoped the boy wouldn’t eat him out of his fortune. </p><p>Ed suppressed a wince. It wasn’t meant as a rude comment, Ed knew that, but dining on another's dime still hurt his pride.</p><p>His serving was finished in record time, as always, but after he was done, he was unsure of what to do next.</p><p>Al babbled to Tucker about something or another. Ed tried to listen, he really did, but his heart was fluttering and pounding and it gave him the urge to pace the room until all of his jitters were out. His own body was betraying him in a fit of dumb, useless anxiety- God, that was stupid, wasn't it? He was being stupid.</p><p><em> Time</em>, he reminded himself for what felt like the millionth time. <em> This will probably just take some time to get used to. </em></p><p>And for the millionth fucking time, the mantra didn’t work.</p><p>He needed a distraction, desperately, so he furrowed his eyebrows and blurted out the first question that came to mind. Anything to get out of there.</p><p>"Mr. Tucker, can you show us your library?" </p><p>He'd rather escape into the throws of alchemy than stew in the atmosphere. He just needed to get used to it, he knew that, <em> he knew that, </em>but even though Al tried to fill the silence with light conversation, it wasn’t enough to drown out Ed’s thoughts. </p><p>"Oh Ed, there's no need to be formal," Tucker smiled in his direction. It was almost comforting. "Shou is fine. I am your legal guardian now, after all."</p><p>Ed glanced down to his empty plate and traced the crumbs with his eyes. He could feel himself cringe, and only hoped it went unnoticed by Tucker. He was doing them a favor. Ed wouldn’t repay it by being weird when the man had only stated the truth.</p><p>Shou still felt too personal, though. He’d probably stick to Tucker. </p><p>"Right," Ed continued. "So where is it?"</p><p>"Brother! Don't be rude! We just got here, we can read later," Al glanced over to where Tucker was and let out an exasperated sigh.  "I'm sorry, Mr. Tucker- Shou," Alphonse corrected. "Brother can be insensitive sometimes. Thank you for taking us in on such short notice."</p><p>Ed huffed. It’s not like he was <em> trying </em>to be impolite. </p><p>Tucker waved his hand. "Oh really, it's no problem." </p><p>"If there's anything we can do to help out, let us know," Alphonse said, ever the “sociable” one. Ed was fine with that- he was always one for action to show thanks, rather than pleasantries, but that put him at a disadvantage with situations like this.</p><p>Tucker stared onward, seeming lost in thought, before offering a small smile in their direction. “Yes, of course.”</p><p>---</p><p>The library was huge. The resources it held were even more impressive. As Ed darted between the shelves and explored the knowledge available, he felt a little more at ease. </p><p>---</p><p>If there was one upside to moving in with the Tuckers, it was Nina. She was damn adorable and she reminded Ed of why he loved kids so much. </p><p>“Wheeee!!!” </p><p>He picked her up and spun her around once, her giggling making him laugh as well. When his arms grew tired and the vertigo set in, he dropped her lightly and collapsed onto the grass, wiggling his toes between the blades. His breath came in short but joyful spurts. His back was damp and his clothes stuck to it, a trickle of sweat running from his head to his neck and down between his shoulders.</p><p>He tried to move his leg and his port throbbed painfully in response. He'd finished recovering fully from the surgery a little over a month before, but he still found his automail strained him more often than not.</p><p>Nina stood above him, her figure blocking out the sun's light. The shadow it cast helped to cool the heat of summer against his skin. </p><p>“Again!” She demanded. There was a grin on her face and a smudge of dirt on her cheek. Her hair had long been disheveled from running and strands of hair from her twin braids stuck out at odd angles, one piece of it having escaped completely. Her pink overalls were matted with earth and leaves. Ed hoped Tucker wouldn’t mind the soiled clothes.</p><p>He laughed and flung himself up into a seated position. A shot of pain raced up his arm and leg. He couldn’t quite stop the hiss that escaped his lips as the nausea returned with vengeance. His head was airy, dark spots dancing around him before fading and allowing his vision to settle. He gulped, suppressed another wince, and smiled at her. “Sorry Nina, but I think I need a break for a bit.”</p><p>Her eyebrows pinched in childish dejection. “But you’ll come play again later?”</p><p>“Of course,” He grinned. “And if you want, you can even come with me to the library. You can bring some crayons so you can color, too.”</p><p>“Really?” Her head perked up. “Even though you’re doing important research?”</p><p>“Yeah! Al and I could use the company anyways.”</p><p>She kneeled down and hugged him tight. Her strength was impressive for someone so young, and he found himself letting out a grunt. “I’m so happy you get to live with us!” Her voice grew softer, as well as her grip, and Ed let out a breath of air as she loosened around him. “It’s been really lonely since mommy left, and daddy’s always working, but now I have you and Al,” She smiled, staring onward to the house. Her expression was both familiar and one Ed wished she didn’t know.</p><p>Ed’s eyes were damp. He pretended they weren’t.</p><p>“Yeah, I know the feeling.”</p><p>---</p><p>The books in the library smelled of must and ink. It was familiar and it helped Ed center his thoughts on his studies. The desks were a dark mahogany. They looked good with the rest of the room's decor, though they could use more spikes and gothic touches. He was tempted to fix that, but unfortunately, Ed rarely found transmuting rooms to look better was met with anything other than Al’s scolding and a demand to turn it back to normal.</p><p>Not that it was really his place to do so here, anyways.</p><p>Instead, he crammed every shred of alchemical knowledge that could possibly be on the test, not stopping until he saw afterimages of arrays when he closed his eyes and scientific jargon constantly creeped into his passing thoughts, to the point that it sounded foreign. Al did the same. Nina was content to sit next to them, drawing picture after picture, occasionally tricking them into taking a break by asking them to play games with her.</p><p>She was a damn smart kid, especially for her age. They didn’t even realize what she was doing until a round of play-pretend ended with Ed actually drinking water; a rarity when he was researching. Which was most of the time.</p><p>The afternoon bled into night. Ed flipped the page of an earth alchemy text absentmindedly, inhaling the information at a concerning speed and storing the important bits for later. He finished a paragraph. Two paragraphs. Two and a half paragraphs. </p><p>Since when did he count the paragraphs? </p><p>Words that he could usually etch into his mind with ease were being skimmed. He found himself becoming aware of what was happening in the surrounding area. The wooden chair below him was suddenly too hard on his back, and being conscious of his back reminded him that he had no idea what was happening behind him. The hairs on his neck stood. Something wasn’t right. He whipped his head around, only to be met with Tucker.</p><p>He let his chest deflate the breath that had been caught.</p><p>“Your focus is very impressive," Tucker nodded in the direction of his book. </p><p>Heat rose to his cheeks in reaction to the compliment. “Yeah, sorry- and thanks- do you need something?”</p><p>“I was wondering if you’d want something specific for dinner?"</p><p>“Honestly I’m fine with anything,” Ed shrugged. His heart was still thumping in his throat, causing the muscles to tighten and his words to come out far too strained. He had to stop himself from scowling at how stupid his body was being, reacting like this over nothing. “It’s your food- I’ll eat whatever you make.”</p><p>“Nonsense,” he smiled. “It’s your first night as part of the family, it’s only fair you get a say.”</p><p>Ed opened his mouth to argue, but Nina spoke first. </p><p>“Ice cream! I want ice cream!”</p><p>Tucker laughed and patted her head. “We can have that for dessert, but let Edward choose dinner.”</p><p>Now on the spot, Ed said the first thing that came to mind, “I like lasagna.”</p><p>“Alright. I’ll go out and buy some,” he smiled. “I’ll be back in an hour.”</p><p>Ed almost interrupted to say that wasn’t necessary, but stopped himself. It would probably be rude to refuse, right? He almost felt weirded out that the man had bothered to ask at all, but in a good way. It felt nice, that his tastes were taken into account, and yet bad at the same time. He didn’t want to get too attached. It was temporary, after all. </p><p>He glanced at Al, who was still entranced with his book and seemed to have missed the entire conversation. He thought about commenting on it, but quickly closed his mouth. It wasn’t weird. It didn’t mean anything. They were just staying there, and when guests come over, you do stuff like that. </p><p>
  <em> “It’s your first night as part of the family.” </em>
</p><p>The earlier unease about being startled by Tucker was gone and replaced by an ache in his heart as he recalled those words. The words he could hear, but could never listen to. It wasn’t the sort of idea he had time to entertain. Just as this house couldn’t ever be home, Tucker and Nina could never truly be his family. He had to acknowledge that now before he worked himself up later. Al was his family and he didn’t know if he could handle- if he could trust himself with- anyone else. Winry and Granny came close, but he couldn’t even force himself to <em> see </em>them anymore. Besides, thinking about it would be getting his hopes up, and he didn’t know what he would do with himself when they were inevitably crushed.</p><p>He already failed Al as a brother. What if he failed Nina too?</p><p>He tapped his pen against the page of his notebook and took solace in the way it indented at the tip. The repetitive motion was cathartic, serving to help him sort his thoughts out with small movements. </p><p>He just needed to get Al’s body back. That’s all he had to do. Everything else, all his worries, all his wishes, could come after that. </p><p>Two hours later and they were back at the dinner table, a pile of steaming noodle-y goodness in the center. The delicious aromas wafted from the food, across the table, and to his nose, which made his stomach grumble and his mouth water. There was even garlic bread.</p><p>“Thanks for the food!” He took a big bite, savoring the spices and noodles. </p><p>“Of course,” Tucker began dishing up his own plate. A thought seemed to strike him, and he turned towards Al, who sat patiently at the table. “I bought you something as well, considering you can’t..” He cut himself off before smiling and fishing through a fabric bag that was discarded on the counter. He pulled out a few expensive looking metal pens and a notebook. “I wasn’t sure what kind of gifts you liked, but as you’re here for research, I figured this may help in your studies.”</p><p>“Oh, thank you so much!" Al said, voice chipper as he spoke. "That was really kind of you.”</p><p>It was rare that either of them received presents from someone who wasn’t Winry or Granny. Ed doubted Tucker even realized how much this meant to Al. He could see how his face seemed to light up, even with the armor, and he could almost imagine him in the flesh, grinning.</p><p>Warmth bubbled in his stomach as his brother flipped through the blank pages of the notebook and set the tip of the pen to a blank sheet. Even if he couldn’t eat yet, he was able to enjoy something small in his life, and that fact made Ed happier than he could put into words.</p><p>“Dad, can you still take me dress shopping tomorrow?” Nina tugged on Tucker's sleeve as he dished her a plate. He patted her head.</p><p>“Oh Nina, I’m sorry. I have to work," He frowned. "We may need to try another day.”</p><p>“I can do it,” Al raised his hand. “I’ve got plenty of time to study.”</p><p>“I’ll come too!” Ed chirped behind a mouthful of food.</p><p>“Brother, you have terrible taste in style. I think this is one you should sit out."</p><p>“Hey! That’s mean. I look cool," He turned to Nina with a raised eyebrow, fishing for her response. "Right?”</p><p>Nina giggled. “Your coat’s really big. It reminds me of a bird.”</p><p>Ed had no idea what that meant, but he played along. “And birds are cool as fuck! See, Al?”</p><p>“Ohhhh, you said a bad word,” Nina's giggles got more intense. </p><p>Al shot him an incredulous look. Or something close to one, anyways. “Brother, you know better than to curse in front of kids.”</p><p>When <em> he </em>was little, adults cussed in front of him all the time. In fact, his mother was really the one to thank for his legendary mouth, but he guessed it was better if Nina didn’t follow in his vocabulary-shaped footsteps. </p><p>“Right," he scratched the back of his neck. He had the self awareness to be sheepish. </p><p>“So what are the new clothes for, anyways?” Al asked.</p><p>“School!” Nina grinned. “I’m gonna buy a biiiig dress so I can be the princess,” Her hands stretched wide as she demonstrated what the word ‘big’ meant. “And then the school can be my palace.” </p><p>“Monarchy’s are unreliable political systems,” Ed stabbed a big piece of lasagna with his fork. “And you don’t wanna be a princess anyways- They rarely get any say in their lives, and it’s like, a ton of responsibility.”</p><p>“Brother!” Al shouted.</p><p>He rolled his eyes. “What?” </p><p>He was just stating the facts. If she was going to play make-believe, she was going to be well-informed while doing so. </p><p>“You know what! Let her pretend," Al huffed. </p><p>The rest of the meal was only eventful if you counted Nina’s 4 year old antics and Al’s need to mother and coddle everyone and anything he could, which now included Nina, and Ed starting to wonder if he and Al were really the ones who got ‘adopted’ that day.</p><p>Tucker just sat in silence, watching.</p><p>---</p><p>It was a stupid, shitty, rainy day, and Ed’s ports felt like they were being beaten repeatedly with a sledgehammer. </p><p>That was an understatement, actually. He could sit there and come up with all sorts of fun analogies to describe the pain, but they <em> ached </em>, and he couldn’t think for more than 2 seconds straight. Winry had to have been lying when she said they’d start feeling better after a year. It’d been a year, and the smallest twitches still made him want to scream in frustration.</p><p>Sometimes he wondered if rushing the recovery process really <em> was </em>a bad idea, but then he takes that thought and slams it in the trash bin of wrong, because his goal was more important than some dumb, stupid swelling around his ports. He would survive. He’d been through worse. </p><p>But <em> fuck </em>if it didn’t hurt like a bitch.</p><p>Al was still gone with Nina to buy her some new clothes. A selfish part of Ed wished they would hurry so he wouldn’t have to be alone. He hated how his brother would fuss over him when he was like this, but he also needed something to distract his thoughts. </p><p>It was then that he heard a knock at his door.</p><p>He took a deep breath and gritted his teeth. The last thing he needed was for Tucker to see him and start worrying only two days after they’d moved in. He had enough of that from Alphonse.</p><p>“Come in,” He growled. His pain was hidden by a grimace, but his irritation shone freely through his voice.</p><p>The door creaked open, revealing Tucker, who stood in the hallway. His body language was relaxed and his eyebrows met in concern. “I noticed that you haven’t left your room to study. Are you feeling alright, Ed?” He asked.</p><p>Ed took a second to debate whether or not he wanted to admit that he was hurting, but decided lying about it probably wouldn’t save much face anyways. Automail being painful wasn’t some big secret. And if they were going to be living together, he owed him <em> some </em>sort of explanation, didn’t he?</p><p>He nodded, “I’m fine. My ports are just giving me some trouble ‘cause of the rain- they’ll cut it out soon enough.”</p><p>Tucker stared like he didn’t believe that for a second. </p><p>Ed shifted under his gaze. Bad choice. The movement just made the throbbing worse, and at it, he took in a shaky breath. It was fleeting in his lungs and tinged by discomfort. Tucker’s lips quirked down. As soon as they did, Ed knew he realized that it was worse than he was letting on.</p><p>“May I come in?” Tucker asked after a moment.</p><p>He sighed and waved his hand, motioning that it was okay. “Sure.” </p><p>Tucker took a step forward and walked the short distance between the doorway and his bed. When the man put a hand up to feel his forehead, Ed backed away from the touch, startled. </p><p>“Sorry, but you’re sweating a lot, and you’re burning up as well…” Tucker reached out to feel it once more. </p><p>He swatted the hand away. “I’m fine”</p><p>“You really do feel sick.”</p><p>“It’s fine.”</p><p>Tucker frowned at that, and Ed found himself <em> almost </em> feeling bad. Maybe he was being a little rude- Tucker just seemed to be concerned.</p><p>He furrowed his eyebrows at that. God, Al's lectures on being polite really might be rubbing off on him. </p><p>Tucker's eyes wandered up and down his body, and then back to his face. There was silence for a few seconds, only interrupted by their breaths and how Ed could hear his heart hammering.</p><p>“I’ll be back in a moment," Tucker let out a sigh. "Change into something cooler, it may help bring your temperature down.”</p><p>He didn’t feel like he had a fever, but then again, it wasn’t uncommon for him to get them on particularly bad days, and this one definitely counted as worse than usual. As Tucker left the room, he removed his shirt and changed into his boxers. The tank top was sticky with sweat. He threw it in the corner with all the other laundry. </p><p>Tucker entered the room once more, a bucket and towel in hand, along with a glass of water. The man's eyes shifted up and down his body yet again. Ed found his flesh hand fiddling with the hem of the sheets. </p><p>He was about to tell Tucker to cut it out, when the man spoke over his thoughts. </p><p>“You know, you look grown for someone your age.”</p><p>On another day, Ed may have awkwardly thanked him, but at that moment, he was in pain and couldn’t help the annoyance that rose at the implication that he was <em> young. </em></p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean?” The words were said through clenched teeth, coming out grated and challenging. </p><p>“Well, just that you look very... mature.”</p><p>Ed narrowed his eyes. “That’s ‘cause I am.”</p><p>The ‘I’m not little’ was left unsaid.</p><p>“Yes," Tucker chuckled and shook his head. "I suppose you are,” He stared at him once more, a smile on his face, before drawing his gaze to the supplies he carried and setting them down on the night stand nearby. </p><p>He passed the glass of water to Ed, who sat up and chugged it greedily. The desert in his throat shrunk and he could feel the coolness pooling in his stomach. He let out a contented breath and wiped the moisture from his lips before handing the empty cup back to Tucker. </p><p>The man set it on the desk, careful to avoid the papers that covered most of it. It hit the wood with a light tap. </p><p>He walked back over to where Ed was resting. "Lie back down," he said.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“You said your ports were aching, right? I have some cream to help.”</p><p>Ed raised an eyebrow, but figured it would make sense if he just gave Tucker a second to just do whatever he was about to do. What he did not expect was for him to fish out a tub of cream, put some on his palm, and begin rubbing it into Ed’s shoulder himself.</p><p>Ed squeaked when the man’s hand met his port. Not his most manly moment, but it caught him off guard and the noise came out before he could stop it. He pulled away, eyes wild and a little confused.</p><p>“The hell?”</p><p>It was blunt and it was rude, but Ed felt like it summed up how he felt about this pretty well. He was in pain, but he was <em> not </em>about to let someone rub cream into his shoulder. He could do it himself and frankly, it was patronizing. </p><p>Tucker drew his hand away. “Ah, sorry Ed- I assumed it’d be easier if you had someone to reach some of the harder spots for you. Did I make you uncomfortable?” He knit his eyebrows in concern. “I’m sorry if I offended you. I can leave if that’s what you want.”</p><p>Ed wasn’t sure what to say to that, if he was being honest. He pursed his lips and fiddled with the sheet hem some more. It really wasn’t that weird, he guessed. Winry had helped him with things like that before- It just caught him off guard. </p><p>He sighed and forced his temper to simmer down. “No, it’s fine. I can do it myself, though.”</p><p>Tucker nodded and handed him the cream, allowing him to rub it in himself. </p><p>Ed let out a contented sigh as menthol cooled the skin around his ports and massaged until the pain dissipated, if only by a bit. </p><p>Tucker sat by his bedside and watched. Ed didn’t even notice he was still there until he had finished.</p><p>“You know,” Tucker began. “If you ever need anything, you can come to me. I only want to help you.”</p><p>Ed glanced away, down towards the sheets that were thrown over his legs. “Yeah, thanks.” </p><p>“And I wasn’t trying to patronize you, if that’s what you were worried about,” Ed opened his mouth to speak, but Tucker continued. “You know, I hit a block in my research a few years back. I was convinced I had to do everything on my own, but I soon realized how wrong that sentiment was,” He smiled knowingly. “Let other people help you. It’ll make a world of difference. I would never be where I am today if not for my wife.”</p><p>“Nina mentioned that she’s… not around,” Ed frowned. “That sucks ass. I’m sorry.”</p><p>"She was a great woman and she gave me the motivation I needed to give Nina a better life," he shrugged. "But some things can’t be helped.”</p><p>Ed would never agree with that sentiment. People shape their own circumstances, in his opinion. There’s always more you could’ve done, but even he knew this was a sore enough of a subject not to voice his personal thoughts. It always hurt to be abandoned by those important to you, afterall.</p><p>“Well, looking at the size of this house, I guess you definitely showed her," Ed joked. </p><p>Tucker laughed. “That I did.”</p><p>They fell into a comfortable silence. Ed wished there was some way he could make this easier for Nina; Some way to make up for the fact that her mother had left and refused to see her. He wondered if she was angry with her mom in the same way he was his father. He figured probably not. She was still too young. Nina probably thought that she’d come back some day. </p><p>The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. He knew from experience that was never going to happen and there was nothing he could do to change that.</p><p>He wondered if Tucker got depressed like his mother did. </p><p>Clanging from downstairs broke him out of his thoughts; A clear sign that Alphonse had returned, along with Nina. </p><p>“We’re home!” Al yelled. </p><p>Tucker turned to him and seemed to search for something in his expression. After a few seconds spent looking, the man sighed and glanced away. “I’d appreciate it if you kept this conversation between you and me. It’s quite personal."</p><p>Ed nodded. While he usually told Al about everything, he could understand his want to keep his thoughts on his wife private. Besides, he knew their secret and didn't tell, Ed figured he could return the favor. </p><p>Al’s clanging footsteps resounded up the stairs. The door opened and he came in, a babbling Nina trailing shortly behind him. He stopped in the doorway, seeming to take in the situation, but before he could speak, Nina beat him to it.</p><p>“Look!” She tugged on a bag that was draped around Al's shoulder, just barely out of reach. He slid it off and passed it to her so she could grab its contents. Out came a sparkly blue dress, long sleeved and covered in glitter, the skirt large and poofy. It vaguely reminded Ed of the sort of thing you’d see a princess wear in a storybook. He guessed Nina really was serious at dinner. It was far too bright for his tastes, but at Nina’s excitement, he couldn’t help but to smile. </p><p>“I love it, Nina,” Tucker lifted it out of her hands. “I’ll have to keep it in my room so it’s not spoiled before your first day of school, though.”</p><p>Nina frowned. “But I wanna wear it today.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, but you have to wait, and that’s final," his tone left no room for argument, and at it, Nina deflated.</p><p>Ed frowned. It was just a dress, right? Even if she messed it up, it could always be transmuted back to normal.</p><p>“I have to get back to work now," Tucker stood from his seat. His back popped and his joints creaked, reminding Ed of his age. He had to have been at least 40, so basically ancient, in Ed’s very educated opinion.</p><p>Tucker nodded towards him. “If you’re still feeling sick later, be sure to let me know." </p><p>Ed grinned and threw up a joking salute. “Got it.” </p><p>The man left the room, Nina’s dress strewn haphazardly over his forearm.</p><p>The second his footsteps were muffled by distance, Al turned to him, accusation in his voice. “You’re feeling sick? Why didn’t you tell us before we left?” </p><p>“It’s just from the storm,” Ed waved his hand. “Really, I’m fine. Tucker already brought some water and shi-” He glanced at Nina, who was slumped in the desk chair, looking a little dejected. “-Ritaki noodles.”</p><p>“Nice save," Al deadpanned. </p><p>“Whatever. Point is, ‘s fine.”</p><p>“If you say so,” Al spoke in his I-know-you’re-bullshitting-me-right-now-but-I’m-not-gonna-push-because-you’ll-still-be-full-of-shit voice. It soon shifted into something resembling worry. “I was thinking about going to the library, but I’ll stay if you need me.”</p><p>“Why would you go to the public library when-” Ed cut himself off, a devious smile forming on his lips. Al had a habit of sneaking gay romance novels over his alchemy textbooks when he got bored of studying. Apparently he’d run out of stories to read. That was the only reasonable explanation for why he’d go to the public library when they have a massive one here, filled to the brim with rare texts and obscure research. “Wait- Does Tucker’s place not have enough romance for you? Gonna go read about some hot men so you can pretend-kiss them?” Ed made a smoochy face. Al tensed up.</p><p>“Ye- No. No! Brother!”</p><p>Ed snickered. Looks like his hunch was spot on. </p><p>“You’re the worst,” Al’s voice absolutely held heat, and it wasn’t just for show. “I have the worst brother ever.”</p><p>“I don’t think he’s the worst," Nina frowned.</p><p>“That’s because he’s tricking you. You’ll understand how horrible he is with time," Al patted her head.</p><p>“Wh-That’s not fair!” Ed threw his flesh hand up. “We just moved in and you’re already trying to turn her against me.”</p><p>“Not trying. Succeeding.”</p><p>“Nuh-uh.”</p><p>“Uh-huh.”</p><p>“Tin can.”</p><p>“Shortie.”</p><p>“Hey! That was uncalled for! I’m <em> not </em> short!”</p><p>“And I’m not a tin can!”</p><p>“You know what, why don’t you just go to the library already?” Ed furrowed his eyebrows, turned his head to the side, and waved him away. “I don’t want you in here anyways.”</p><p>“Fine," Alphonse growled.</p><p>“Fine!” Ed shouted.</p><p>Al stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.</p><p>Nina looked very concerned at this, her eyebrows knitting together like this small argument was the end of the world. She seemed to not quite understand what was happening. Ed guessed that made sense. She’d never had siblings, afterall.</p><p>“Why’d you fight with him?” She fiddled with the hem of her shirt, her head down and her expression filled with guilt. “Did I do something wrong?”</p><p>“Wh- No Nina, of course not,” Ed smiled, unsure of where this was coming from. “Al wouldn’t have left otherwise- He’d have stayed and coddled me like he always does instead of going out to do something for himself for once. It’s fine.”</p><p>Nina didn’t seem convinced. The tears were getting closer to falling and her lip began to quiver. </p><p>Ed frowned. He really hadn’t meant to upset her. Had he known she’d blame herself, he wouldn’t have made such a show out of kicking Al from his room. He scoured his brain for ideas. His mind went back to the dress. </p><p>Winry always tried to talk him and Al into playing dress up with her when they were kids. They rarely did (a fact that Ed almost regretted now), but she was elated the rare occasions they agreed. </p><p>He glanced at Nina. Maybe a round of play-pretend would make her feel better? She seemed really excited to wear it. Surely it wouldn’t hurt if she tried it on for a bit? Tucker was always in his study, afterall. It wasn’t like he’d notice. </p><p>The pitter-patter of rain was beginning to slow and the cream had been a huge help on his ports. The throbbing was dulled, if only by a bit, now more of a very harsh ache rather than the blinding, bone-deep pain. </p><p>(In reality, it still hurt enough for small movements to be troubling, but that never stopped him before.)</p><p>His mind made up, he grinned. Nina didn’t meet his eyes, her lip still quivering.</p><p>“Don’t cry,” He patted her head, ruffling her hair and giving her the most comforting expression he could. He then stretched over to grab some more cream, figuring that a little extra before he got moving wouldn’t hurt. “It’s really not that big of a deal,” he rubbed it in and gave it a few seconds to soak. When he stood, it was with a wince. His leg throbbed. He grit his teeth.</p><p>“Aren’t you hurt?” She asked, glancing up at his movement with wide, glossy eyes. </p><p>Ed met her concern with a flashy smile and he bulldozed through the question like he did all his problems.</p><p>“Promise not to tell Tucker if I snag your dress from his room?”</p><p>---</p><p>“Alright Nina, Operation Dress-Up is a go.” </p><p>The plan was simple; Wait until Tucker was in his office, sneak into his room, grab the dress, play with Nina until she felt better, then sneak it back in before he noticed. Was it an invasion of privacy? Probably, but Ed figured that as long as he didn’t touch anything else, it would be fine. And besides, it’s not like Tucker would find out. He couldn’t be upset if he didn’t know.</p><p>Nina was giggling beside him the entire trip. He put a hand on her mouth and gave what was meant to be an exacerbated “shhh”, but it was made moot by the fact he couldn’t make noise without drawing more attention to their location. He peaked around the corner of a large doorway that led to the kitchen, just in time to see Tucker stop by the sink. He filled a glass with water, the rushing noise enough to cover Nina’s laughter and his own huffs as he tried to quiet her once more.</p><p>The man’s footsteps resounded on the hardwood floors as he turned towards the doorway and began walking towards it. At his departure, Ed somersaulted into the kitchen so he could hide behind the island. He regretted the action as soon as he twisted the wrong way and his automail made a screeching sound that was probably not good. He let out an involuntary yelp, the throbbing worsening back to how it was before, the pain enough to make his breath catch and his world tilt momentarily. He bit his tongue before another noise could be made. </p><p>He guessed that was what he got for trying to show off. </p><p>Tucker’s footsteps stopped. The silence was deafening. Ed’s throat was tight, too tight, so tight he could hear his own pulse, even over his strained breaths.</p><p>One second.</p><p>Two seconds.</p><p>Three seconds.</p><p>The footsteps continued down the hallway. They were in the clear. </p><p>He let out a shaky sigh and he strained himself to his feet, leaning on the island for balance and allowing himself a moment to recalibrate. Nina opened her mouth to talk, but he raised his finger to his lips before she could speak.</p><p>He continued through the large kitchen, a small limp now present, but he tried his best to keep his footsteps even and silent.</p><p>They made it out into the hall. It was empty. He evened his breathing and they started up the stairs to the second floor. Some of them creaked under his steps and he noted the spots where that happened in case it was useful later. Not that he planned on doing this sort of thing a lot. </p><p>They made it to the top. So far, so good. Ed sauntered down the hallway and darted from door to door, attempting to keep his limp unnoticeable as he peaked within each and tried to spot which one was Tucker’s. That was what sucked most about mansions; there were too many damn rooms. It was only when Nina tugged on his sleeve and pointed towards one of the doorways that he realized he was an idiot. </p><p>He followed her lead and put his hand on the knob, opening it a crack and trying to reduce the creaking as much as he could.</p><p>The only light in Tucker’s chambers was from within the bathroom that adjourned it. A soft, fluorescent glow peaked between the cracks of the door, signifying the man had forgotten to turn it off. It made the space just visible enough to tell it was messy. Clothes were strewn across the floor, a few dishes were sprinkled on the desk, and the blinds were closed tight. </p><p>Ed flicked the light switch on and took a step forward. </p><p>He figured the most logical place to hide a dress would be a closet, so that’s exactly where he went. Sure enough, it was there, hanging loosely and gimmering slightly in the light. Ed pulled it out. Nina grinned, her earlier upset now gone. </p><p>Yeah, this was definitely worth potentially getting in trouble.</p><p>He stepped out of the room to allow her to change, taking the time to sit and massage his ports. A few minutes later, she stepped out into the hall, grinning ear to ear. </p><p>The dress flowed and glittered in the light of the hallway, the fabric making a soft scratching noise as she spun once. It settled down when she stopped moving and she looked at him excitedly. “See! I’m a princess.”</p><p>Ed laughed. “So what do princesses do?” He already knew the answer, but after Al’s lengthy lecture on the wonders of childhood imagination last night, he'd decided to just play along. </p><p>Well, lengthy lecture was a generous way of stating it. It was one reprimand at Ed’s behavior, with much of the actual speech beneath the context that it would have been worse had they lacked an audience. Al was simply too polite to make too much of a fuss in front of others, how else would he keep up his image of being ‘the nice one’?</p><p>The memory made Ed purse his lips. He was the older brother, he didn’t need to be corrected all the time.</p><p>Nina stopped to think for a second before nodding, snapping him out of his annoyance as she spoke. “Drink tea, fight bad guys and dragons.”</p><p>Well, Ed could make one of those things happen. Unfortunately, bringing a 5 year old with him to do vigilante activity probably wasn’t a good plan, and dragons were definitely not real. The closest thing he could think of was Mustang, but snakes weren’t quite the same. </p><p>And so, they made their way to the kitchen. </p><p>“Tea time, tea time!” Nina’s energy was abundant, present in every elated movement as she skipped to the table. She plopped into her seat, waving her legs back and forth and admiring the sparkly fabric of her dress. As she did so, he searched the cabinet for the tea.</p><p>“What kind do you like?” He asked.</p><p>“Lemon. With loooooots of sugar.”</p><p>He spotted a container and fished it out before setting it on the island. Next came the sugar, which he soon found near the bottom of the walk-in pantry. </p><p>He poured the leaves in, followed by the water, and then set the kettle to boil. When it was ready, he hastily poured it into two cups, adding generous amounts of sugar to each. He almost scalded himself in the process of bringing the mugs over to the table, where Nina was humming to herself. He took a seat across from her. </p><p>“So, Princess Nina, how’s your tea?”</p><p>“Lemon-y,” she replied seriously.</p><p>He snorted. He’d always liked kids. They were honest and what you saw was what you got. They never wanted something from him or judged him like adults did and they weren’t annoying like most people his age, too. He’d never gotten along with his peers. </p><p>Nina took a sip of her tea and tilted her head in curiosity. “Were you a prince when you started school?” </p><p>Ed laughed. “No, I grew up in the country with all the sheep. More a peasant, really.”</p><p>“Did you make pillows out of the sheep?”</p><p>Ed nodded. “Yeah, fabrics too. Risembool’s pretty famous for our fabrics,” His expression faltered, switching between a grimace and a smile a few times. Thinking about his childhood home always left a bittersweet taste in his mouth. “We used to try to ride them- The sheep-” He elaborated. “It never went well. I actually have a scar from it on my-” He cut himself off. Right. That was before he lost his leg. “Well, not anymore, I guess,” he let out a laugh, but it was strained, even to his own ears. He was thankful that Nina didn’t seem to notice. </p><p>“I’ve never seen a real sheep. Are they fluffy?”</p><p>“Eh, kinda. A lot of stuff gets up in the coat, so you have to be careful while petting them sometimes, or else you’ll get caught with a sticker.”</p><p>Nina hummed and took another sip of her drink. </p><p>It was then that Ed heard thumping from the hallway.</p><p>A lot of things happened in the following seconds. </p><p>First, Ed realized the thumps were definitely footsteps. Second, he realized that meant they were <em> Tucker’s </em>footsteps. Third, Nina came to the same conclusion. </p><p>And fourth, they ran. </p><p>Ed slid out of his chair and bolted towards the doorway. With Nina in tow, he sprinted down the hall, towards Tucker’s chambers, in a last ditch effort to return the dress before they got caught.</p><p>He was halfway up the corridor when it hit him that Tucker’s room was in the same direction that Tucker was going towards.</p><p>When he was at the end of the hallway, he knew Tucker had definitely seen them, and was definitely standing behind them. </p><p>Shit.</p><p>“Nina, Edward,” Tucker called. His voice was smooth, not an ounce of emotion present, and that really only made it worse. Ed focused on the floral pattern on the wallpaper, attempting to distract his panicking mind with something that wasn’t the fact that they fucked up. “Why are you running?”</p><p>Ed turned around and met the man’s even glare with a sheepish grin. Tucker seemed unamused. </p><p>“Would you believe me if I said we weren’t?” Ed asked.</p><p>Yeah, he was definitely unamused. </p><p>Ed sighed. “Guess not.” </p><p>Tucker shook his head, thinned his lips, and shifted his gaze towards his taugher. “Nina, what did I tell you?” He asked.</p><p>Nina, poor, sweet Nina, was now on the verge of tears. Ed mentally kicked himself. This entire thing only started because he wanted her to <em> stop </em> crying. </p><p>She caught the fabric of her dress in her fist and pulled on it lightly, her face now gaining a flush and snot dribbling from her nose to her lips. “Th-That I wasn’t supposed to wear the dress yet.”</p><p>“And what are you doing?”</p><p>“Wearing the dress.”</p><p>“It’s my fault,” Ed blurted out. Tucker snapped his head to look at him and Ed shifted his stance under his gaze. It was just like back in his room, uncomfortable, and something else he couldn’t put his finger on. “I talked her into it,” Ed continued. “If you’re gonna be pissed, be pissed at me.”</p><p>Tucker raised his eyebrows at that, but his face soon smoothed back to an expression tinged with annoyance. He rubbed his temple and sent a glance towards his daughter. “Nina, go change, and then go to your room,” he narrowed his eyes and motioned to where Ed stood, doing a 'come here' gesture. “You, follow me.”</p><p>Nina nodded. Her shoulders bobbed along with her sobs, her sniffling growing continually louder over a few seconds. </p><p>Ed wished he could make it better somehow. He was about to speak, reassure her, but Tucker told him to hurry up and he changed his mind. He wasn’t sure what to tell her anyways.</p><p>Tucker led him back into the kitchen and up the stairs. Ed noted with dejection once again how some of them creaked beneath his feet. </p><p>Now that the adrenaline had worn off, his leg was really starting to hurt from the running. Refusing to be reduced to hobbling, he bit his lip over the pain and kept his footfalls even. Each step made his port flare and he suppressed the urge to stop or lean against the wall for support. </p><p>They entered Tucker’s room. As the man clicked the door shut, Ed found himself perplexed. He stood, feeling a little awkward, in the middle of the space. The tension was becoming suffocating, the anticipation turning to slight nervousness, and then to beads of sweat that sprung from his forehead. He was unsure of where this was going, but he kept his shoulders squared and his head held high. If this was some sort of intimidation tactic, then he wasn’t rattled.</p><p>Well, he was, but mostly because he was <em> really </em> confused.</p><p>When Tucker spoke, it was with an underlying agitation, and it shattered the uneasy quiet that had developed. “Where did you get the dress?” </p><p>“... Your closet.”</p><p>“Right. So you talked my daughter into breaking into my room, stealing something I clearly told her not to wear, and running from me?”</p><p>Well, when he put it like that, Ed <em>did</em> feel bad. </p><p>He shrugged, casting his gaze towards the wall, if only to shake the weird sensation that Tucker’s stare gave him. It didn’t work. Another shiver ran up his spine and the squirming of anxiety in his gut only served to make him annoyed, his tone becoming more aggressive than apologetic. “She was upset- I thought it would make her feel better.“</p><p>“That doesn’t excuse the behavior.”</p><p>There was the silence again, only filled by the sound of Ed’s own heart and Tucker’s breath as he sighed. “What do you think is an appropriate punishment?”</p><p>“Wh- I just told you I was only trying to help! You can’t punish me for that!”</p><p>“I can, actually,” he tapped his foot impatiently. “So give me some ideas or I’m deciding for you.”</p><p>Ed opened his mouth, closed it, and then let out a huff. </p><p>Whatever. He wasn’t a wuss and no matter what it was, he could take it. It was better he got in trouble for this than Nina anyways, it <em> had </em>been his idea.</p><p>He thinned his lips and thought about all the ways he’d been disciplined. His mom would usually just lecture him. Teacher would punch him, make him skip dinner, really anything to prove her point. </p><p>He swallowed and hoped he might get lucky.</p><p>“Could I get off with a warning?” </p><p>“No.”</p><p>Ed swore under his breath. “No dinner?” </p><p>“I’m not going to starve you, Edward.”</p><p>Ed fiddled the hem of his shirt and scoured his mind for any plans that could possibly help. Nothing. His gaze met the floorboards, and suddenly, the creases of the wood became very interesting. He grit his teeth, loathe to admit that he didn’t have any other ideas. </p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p>Tucker sighed once again and moved to his closet. Ed shifted his weight awkwardly, wondering what he was doing. When the man came out with a large, leather belt, the gears in his head clicked and he spoke before he could think.</p><p>“No way,” Ed took a step back, the pounding of his pulse beginning to quicken as his eyes darted from the belt to Tucker’s face. He searched in his expression for a bluff or a hint that he was joking, and when he found no signs of either, he glared defiantly. “Not gonna happen,” he kept his tone as even as he could, but his throat was sealing up and strangling the words, even as he pushed himself to show no signs that he was intimidated.</p><p>“It’s only fair, Edward,” Tucker cracked the belt. He then shifted the leather between his hands and looked it over, running a finger over the smooth, hardened texture. Ed’s stomach dropped to his toes. The man was <em> definitely </em>serious. “4 lashes, and you can take Nina’s punishment as well if you wish, since it was your idea.”</p><p>“You’re not going to hit me with the belt like some sort of toddler!” </p><p>“Would you rather Nina get it?”</p><p>Ed’s face went from a stark crimson to a sickly white in a matter of seconds. “You can’t do that! I was just trying to help because she was upset. It’s not her fault, I’m the one who-”</p><p>“Then we have an agreement. 4 lashes.”</p><p>"No,” Ed stomped his foot. “I'm <em> not </em>doing it."</p><p>"There's nothing to be scared of,” Tucker chuckled. The sound made something nasty curdle in Ed’s gut. “I'm not going to hurt you.”</p><p>"I'm not scared! I just-" Ed glanced down at the belt, but that only made his anxiety worse. Now he was thinking about how much it was going to hurt. He’d felt pain before, though, way worse stuff than that. Wasn't it better him than Nina? </p><p>He spent a moment glowering at the belt and then at Tucker, trying to convey just how pissed he was by expression alone. If the man was intimidated, he didn’t show it.</p><p>“Fine," Ed ground out, curling his upper lip and clenching his fist to stop it from shaking. </p><p>He wondered if this was a pattern in his life; Coming up with stupid plans to try and make things better, failing, and getting the people he’s supposed to take care of hurt or in trouble because of them.</p><p>Tucker raised an eyebrow. “So you agree?” </p><p>“Yeah,” he hissed, making no effort to stop his anger from seeping through. His speech came out jagged and bitter. He hoped his tone was sharp, that the words cut, and he hoped even more they did it well enough to make Tucker change his mind. </p><p>When there was no shift, no sign that this was some sort of prank, Ed thinned his lips and huffed. “Just get it over with.”</p><p>He wasn’t a coward. He could take whatever Tucker threw at him. This was fine. He was fine.</p><p>“Alright,” It was only a split second difference, but for a moment, Tucker seemed a little <em> too </em>engaged with what was happening. “Take off your pants.”</p><p>Ed swallowed the lump in his throat and did as he said. His leather pants soon laid in a heap on the floor and his cheeks darkened as he stared at them.</p><p>Tucker fiddled with the belt, but kept his eyes on him, still holding a nonchalant expression as he motioned his hand towards Ed’s chest. “The shirt and boxers need to go as well,” he said.</p><p>Ed froze in place. His brain took a solid 10 seconds to short circuit and reboot. When he spoke, it was closer to a whisper than he would’ve liked.</p><p>“Why?” </p><p>“Because it’s part of the punishment, take them off.”</p><p>He was about to object once more, but the image of Nina in the hallway, tears streaming down her face, came into his mind, and he decided against it. </p><p>He removed his shirt, but his fingers hesitated at the hem of his boxers.</p><p>“We’re both men here, Edward,” Tucker rolled his eyes like <em> Ed </em> was the one being irrational. “Don’t be a child. Take them off.”</p><p>He was feeling a little woozy and he realized he’d been holding his breath. He quickly inhaled, but it did little to steady his nerves, his thoughts still in a state of disarray. His mouth was absolutely parched and it made his tongue stick to the roof of it.  </p><p>It took a few more seconds, but he obliged. The cool air hit exposed skin and sent shivers up his spine. The blood rushed from his erratic, pounding heart to his cheeks and he knew he must’ve been flush all over. </p><p>This wasn’t fine. This was weird, wasn’t it? Teacher never made him go this far. The only people who’d ever seen him naked were his family, and it was never like.. This. </p><p>He didn’t like it.</p><p>He wanted to curl up and never be looked at again, if only to get Tucker to stop gazing at him like that. It was making him unsure in his own body. </p><p>He told himself, once more, that he wasn’t scared. And yet it didn’t stop the thing in his stomach from tearing at his organs and razing him from the inside out, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand, churning nausea in sickening waves, yelling that this was bad, that he was in danger.</p><p>Tucker studied him for a moment and it was a moment too long. Each second of silence felt like an eternity. Ed didn’t know what to do, and so he just… stood there, trying to shift away and hide himself from prying eyes. </p><p>After the man was done surveying him, he nodded in approval. “Very good, now lean over.”</p><p>Ed hesitated once more, clutching his boxers tightly. </p><p>He could put them on and run. He could scream at Tucker to cut it out, that this was definitely weird, and he wanted it to stop. He could yell for Al and hope his little brother would come home before this kept going. </p><p>He didn’t. Instead, tentatively, he leaned over the bed, and clutched his boxers even tighter. </p><p>4 lashes. That’s all. He’d had his limbs cut off barely a year ago. He’d dealt with pain in his ports all morning. He’d survived on an abandoned island with nothing but a knife and his brother. What was this compared to all that?</p><p>One. </p><p>The belt cracked against his back, but the pain grounded him, almost making him forget what was happening.</p><p>Two. </p><p>He took a deep, steadying breath, and braced himself for the next blow.</p><p>Three. </p><p>His mind was drifting. He wondered what sorts of books Al was reading.</p><p>Four.</p><p>He grit his teeth so hard it was a wonder they didn’t crack. His eyes were damp, but he wasn’t about to cry, not like this.</p><p>And then it was done.</p><p>“Good job, Ed,” Tucker ran a calloused palm over his back, smoothing out the now-reddened skin. Ed shivered and squirmed away from the touch. “You did very well.”</p><p>The belt clanked when it hit the ground. Ed let out a sigh of relief, stood, and went to turn around, but was met with a hand that stopped him.</p><p>“I said you did well, not that we’re done," Tucker said.</p><p>“I-I took the lashings, what else do you want?” God, he sounded pathetic. He mentally kicked himself for stuttering and squeezed his eyes shut, the motion helping him to hold the nausea down before it could become bile. Instead, it turned to clusters in his stomach that weighted his body and made it hard to move. </p><p>“You still have Nina’s portion,” Tucker said. “Bend back over.”</p><p>Every part of his brain was screaming for him to fight. To struggle, scream, anything to get him to quit. He drew in a wary, shaking breath, and went to cover himself. He took a step back, trying to get away, but his legs hit the bed instead. “No. No, this is weird, stop," his whole body was shaking now. He swallowed, eyes wide and panic taking a hold on him until his thoughts were almost racing faster than his heart. "Stop. This is weird. I’m not doing it- I’m not-”</p><p>“It’s not weird, Edward. You’re being dramatic,” he scoffed. “Or can you not take it?”</p><p>“I can, but-”</p><p>“Then what are you complaining about?” The ice cold expression was being replaced by something more heated and Ed realized the man was annoyed. The sight fueled the fire in Ed’s own chest, embarrassment and shame turning into rage.</p><p>“I said no!” He snarled and leveled his glare, the stinging in his eyes increasing and tears threatening to fall, but he was too angry to put energy into crying. </p><p>“Then I’ll have to give it to Nina, Edward,” Tucker raised an eyebrow, taking a step forward until Ed was forced to remember just how much he towered over him. The sudden understanding of that fact made him feel all the more threatened, in more ways than just his ego being bruised. “Is that what you want? You want me to beat my daughter over your mistake?”</p><p>“No, but I-”</p><p>“Then bend over.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Ed knew he was grasping at straws, but this was too humiliating, and he was too angry, and his ports hurt, and his back was sore, and he just wanted Tucker to leave him alone. “I won’t do something like that again. Just stop. I won’t do it again-” His voice was growing as frantic as he felt. He’d never been good at hiding his emotions, and at that moment, he didn’t care to. If desperation got him away from there, he was fine with that.</p><p>“Yes, you will be sorry,” Tucker's eyes wandered up and down his body before they snapped back up. “I’m going to give you 5 seconds to collect yourself, Edward.”</p><p>“But I-”</p><p>“Five.”</p><p>“Tucker, don’t make me-”</p><p>“Four.”</p><p>“I was just-”</p><p>“Three.”</p><p>“Please don’t-”</p><p>“Two."</p><p>It wasn’t any use. Tucker wouldn’t budge. </p><p>He could still run.</p><p>But where did that leave Nina?</p><p>"One."</p><p>It took all of his willpower, but Ed swallowed the lump in his throat, along with his pride, and leaned back over.</p><p>Bile was clawing its way through his stomach and the urge to vomit was becoming almost uncontrollable. The lemon tea from earlier now burned as it threatened to exit.</p><p>“Very good. It’ll be over before you know it, Edward.”</p><p>Ed hated it when he said his name.</p><p>But what he hated more was the fact that Tucker didn’t lean back over to grab the belt. No, the next strike to his flesh wasn’t leather, but a hand.</p><p>And it was a million times worse. He bit his lip to make it stop quivering and forced his trembling muscles to still.</p><p>“I won’t tell anybody about this, Edward,” Tucker ran his fingers over the inflamed skin. “I know it’s embarrassing. It can stay our secret.”</p><p>“Why are you doing this?” He was surprised by how calm his voice sounded. Perhaps he was going into shock because the hyper-awareness his fear and rage had given him before was starting to turn into disbelief. Everything was getting more fuzzy. </p><p>Tucker didn’t respond. Instead, he brought his palm down once again, this time harder than before. Ed didn’t even realize he had mentally checked out until it was over and he had been told to put his clothes back on. Then he was in the hallway. He wasn’t sure when, exactly, that happened, because his mind was a million miles away and his body wasn’t quite attached.</p><p>He blinked once. Twice. The world around him spun back into focus. Every sensation was slow and seemed to come to him as if he was underwater. He found himself distracted by the pain in his back and a lingering sense of danger as the panic hung in the air as a suffocating fog. It made breathing properly difficult. The oxygen was too thick to go down properly, his inhales shallow and his exhales shaky. </p><p>What the hell just happened? </p><p>He wasn’t sure. He stared at the door, then to his hands, then to his clothes, and tried to wrap his shifting, disbelieving thoughts around an unreal reality. He genuinely couldn’t do anything but stand there, mouth sewn tight, trying to just <em> understand </em>.</p><p>He felt sick. </p><p>Maybe it was a childish way of putting things, maybe not, but he was tired and he didn’t have the energy for analogies. He felt sick, and what just happened was weird, but he also wasn’t sure what that meant anymore. </p><p>Weird because it made him uncomfortable? That was the point of punishment.</p><p>Weird because it hurt? Teacher’s beatings always hurt.</p><p>But not like that. </p><p>Never like that.</p><p>Was he being dramatic? Maybe Tucker was right. Maybe he was overreacting. He wondered if he should ask Al, but quickly brushed the concept off with a shake of his head. Al couldn’t know. It was too embarrassing and if anybody found out about what had just happened, he didn’t think he could take the humiliation. </p><p>Besides, he was probably making a big deal out of nothing, right? </p><p>At that moment, he just wanted to lick his wounds and curl up into his bed. Nina was okay. That was all that mattered. It was his fault anyways, he started it, and if what just happened got Nina out of trouble, he was fine with that. </p><p>Tucker had sworn not to tell anybody, and somehow, that was comforting. Nobody needed to know. He could take all the emotions and hold them close to his heart until he was rotting and flesh was peeling off his bone and maggots made a home out of his chest. He could move on and act like this never happened. He didn’t need help. He didn’t need comfort. He was fine.</p><p>He’d sleep it off, wake up tomorrow, and pretend everything was normal. Maybe then he’d stop wanting to hide his body under clothes, blankets, anything to stop anybody from ever looking at him like that again. The urge to shrink until he couldn’t be seen would disappear.</p><p>He took a step towards his room. </p><p>Left foot forward. </p><p>
  <em> “Bend over.” </em>
</p><p>Right foot forward.</p><p>
  <em> “Please just stop.” </em>
</p><p>Left foot forward.</p><p>
  <em> “You look so grown for someone your age.” </em>
</p><p>Right foot forward.</p><p>Eyes. Eyes all over him. Up and down his body. </p><p>He had two good legs to walk on. He just had to keep moving. All of this could be dealt with when Al had his body. All of it would make sense. </p><p>It was fine. </p><p>He was <em> fine. </em> </p><p>So why did he still feel sick?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His large, red comforter embraced every inch of his body. He snuggled into the warmth. It smelled like the lavender soap used to wash it. If he closed his eyes long enough and didn’t think about anything he shouldn’t, the soreness in his back could almost be ignored and he could focus on the way the blanket shrouded him in a protective darkness. A bed truly is a wonderful thing when you’re upset- tired. He was just a little tired.</p><p>A knock resounded at his door, so soft he almost didn’t hear it, and <em> God </em>did he not want to hear it, because the only 3 people it could be were the ones he wanted to see the least. He shut his eyes tighter. </p><p>He felt like a child afraid of the boogeyman. Like he was still too young to discern stories from reality, loud noises from danger, good from nice, and would curl up under layers of blankets at the slightest feeling of fear. That way, no threats could see him. No threats could <em> touch </em>him. And his mother would knock ever so lightly at his door. He wouldn’t respond, so she would walk in, with soft footsteps, smelling of the spices she’d used to cook dinner, and she’d lift the blanket just enough to see his face. </p><p><em> “Edward,” </em> She’d say. <em> “You’re a big boy now. You’re far too old to be scared of the dark.” </em></p><p>He’d shake his head. <em> “I’m not scared.” </em></p><p>
  <em> “Then why are you hiding?” </em>
</p><p>And he wouldn’t respond, so she would sigh and take a seat next to him. Rubbing circles in his back, she would snuggle up to him, and she'd whisper that he was safe, because she would never let anything hurt him. </p><p>The boogeyman; He wondered, bitterly, if the same concept still applied. </p><p>No, it didn’t. There was no boogeyman, because he wasn’t real, and Ed <em> wasn’t </em>scared, and everything was perfectly fine. </p><p>So opened his eyes, sat up, and then answered-</p><p>"Come in." </p><p>His voice was strained. He pretended it wasn't. </p><p>Nina peaked her head into his room, keeping her gaze low, and slouching as she opened the door fully. It made her look even smaller than the measly 3’9 she stood at. </p><p>Ed didn’t hear what she said. He’d like to blame it on how softly she spoke, like they were in the woods and talking any louder would alert wolves of their location. He’d liked to blame it on the fact that his eyelids were bricks threatening to pull him into unconsciousness. He’d like to blame it on a lot of things, as long as they didn’t have to do with the fact that he saw her, eyes red and puffy with unshed tears, and felt panic<em>. </em></p><p>What if she wasn’t okay? What if it was all for nothing?</p><p>“Nina,” He interrupted. “Nina, are you hurt? Anywhere?”</p><p>“N-No?”</p><p>“You promise?" He asked, a little desperate. His throat was tight and his heart fluttered with possibilities. "I want you to promise,” he demanded. He kept his voice level, but his thoughts were hysterical, almost incomprehensible, full of what-if’s and self blame. His stomach was churning. He felt sick again. “Nina, don’t lie to me about this shit, because I swear to fucking god if you’re lying-”</p><p>“I’m not lying!” She snapped. Her eyes were glistening, and she wiped the tears with haste. A little bit of snot caught on her sleeve, but with the way her eyebrows furrowed, she seemed too upset to notice. “Wh-Why would I lie about that?”</p><p>He locked his eyes with hers, hoping to find any sign, any at all, that she was hiding something. A shift in her pupils. A quirk in her lips. A twitch of her eyebrow. When he saw nothing, his heart slowed, but he kept his gaze intense. </p><p>“You swear?”</p><p>“You’re scaring me.” </p><p>Her voice was low, too low, and at her words, he deflated. He ran a palm over his automail hand. The cool metal soothed him as he took deep breaths. </p><p>He wondered what was wrong with him, startling her like this. She was <em> his </em>responsibility, dammit. He couldn’t keep her safe if she didn’t-</p><p>Safe from what, though? Her father? Ed may have cared about her, and parents may be shit sometimes, but who was he to step in and act like she needed <em> his </em> protection? He could barely care for Al and himself. And she didn't need his help, because she was fine. <em> Nothing happened.  </em></p><p>“I’m fine, Nina,” He smiled at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sorry if I scared you. It’s been a long day. Swear you’re not hurt?”</p><p>She swallowed. “Y-Yeah.”</p><p>He grinned. “Good.” </p><p>“I can’t stay long,” She glanced around the doorway. “Dad said I need to be in my room.”</p><p>Ed frowned. “Nina, you need to leave. You can’t be here then,” he really, really didn’t want her out of his sight, but the thought of her provoking Tucker again made his pulse quicken and his stomach stir uncomfortably. </p><p>Nina pouted. “I don’t wanna go. I’m bored.”</p><p>“You need to find something to do, then. You can’t stay with me until it’s saf-” He paused. Tucker only said she needed to stay in her room, he never said Ed couldn’t be there too. </p><p>“How about this, I’ll walk you back, and we’ll play in your room until it’s okay to leave. Does that work?” </p><p>Nina nodded and let out an excited “Mhm!”</p><p>The walk back to her bedroom had Ed’s heart racing with every second, every groan of the floorboards as their feet met old wood, every small noise that the house made when it settled. He noticed, bitterly, how his legs wanted to buckle, and how heavy his automail was. He hated feeling like that, like he was scared. He wished it would just <em> stop. </em></p><p>And then there were footsteps up the stairs. Brisk, droning, hollow footsteps. </p><p>Nina stiffened. </p><p>The world was coming to a stop, his vision starting to tunnel and his face going numb with anxiety. He wished he could just pause right there, give himself some time to escape.</p><p>It was happening again. He could’ve died in that moment and it almost felt like he did. It was so soon after. He couldn’t do it again, he couldn’t-</p><p>
  <em> “Is that what you want? You want me to beat my daughter over your mistake?” </em>
</p><p>But then there was the glint of metal. Eternally burning, red and white soulfire eyes, ones that took them in with confusion, so unlike the looks Tucker gave him. The aroma of expensive polish imported from Creta, and Ed only knew that scent from one place, and it meant <em> safety. </em>Pure, unadulterated safety. </p><p>He let his shoulders unfurl and his breath slow. It didn’t stop the shake in his legs and the panic strummed on, although less potent and world-stopping.</p><p>“Brother?” Al called. The metallic overtones were entirely too loud in a silent hallway. “What are you doing out of bed? You’re supposed to be resting.”</p><p>How pathetic. The big brother reduced to a fumbling mess at the sound of his younger counterparts' <em> footsteps. </em>He wondered what was wrong with him. </p><p>“I’m fine, Al,” he kept his voice even. If he said it like it was true, then it would be.</p><p>“But you’re hurt!”</p><p>“Hurt?”<em> Tucker was behind him again. There was warm breath against Ed’s neck, moist and sticky and suffocating, it sent goosebumps over his body. Leather whipped his back and made lines of red agony. Once, twice, four times. He grit his teeth and clutched his boxers harder. </em></p><p>But then he ground the fabric between the pads of his fingertips, actually felt it, and realized it was the soft cotton of his tank-top. He frowned. With a racing heart, he came back to the present. </p><p>How did he know? Al wasn’t supposed to know. Tucker <em> swore </em> not to tell, the bastard <em> promised- </em> </p><p>He grinned and scratched the back of his neck. “Why would I be hurt?”</p><p>“Don’t play games, brother,” Al crossed his arms. The metal ground with the movement. “You just finished automail rehab a month ago, and your ports have been acting up all morning! You should be taking it easy!”</p><p>Oh.</p><p>
  <em> Oh.  </em>
</p><p>He'd been so distracted by everything else that he almost forgot. He snorted. </p><p>“I’m walkin’, ain’t I?”</p><p>Al let out a sound that was probably meant to be a huff. “Go lay down.”</p><p>“Al, cut it out. I’m fine,” he kicked his leg up to demonstrate just how 'fine' he was and winced when it tilted at a weird angle. The movement was not unnoticed by Alphonse. Typical. </p><p>“You’re so full of hooey,” Al deadpanned. “Alright fine,” He threw his hands up. “You win. But don’t pitch a hissy fit when I have to take you to the doctor tomorrow ‘cause you can’t walk and the nurse pulls me aside to tell me you have <em> permanent nerve damage </em> like Winry warned us about, and then I <em> cry </em>,” Al took a moment to collect himself before continuing. “And you have to move back to Risembool, and Winry murders you for being stupid, and I have to mourn your death, and you make me cry more, and then Winry sobs because she killed you, and it’s all your fault because you can’t take one day off to rest!”</p><p>The implied anger and passive-aggressiveness made way to a mixture of exacerbation and lividity as he spoke. By the end of it, he was flailing his arms around and glaring with his voice, which was terrifying. Ed didn’t even know someone could <em> do that. </em>Alphonse huffed again, before glancing down to where Nina stood, hiding behind Ed’s leg. His entire demeanor changed so quickly Ed was left with whiplash. </p><p>“Oh! Hi Nina, I didn’t see you there,” He tilted his head to the side.  “Are you hungry? It’s getting late.”</p><p>“I-I’m fine,” she swallowed. “I need to go,” she moved to duck out of Al’s way and scurry off to her room. Ed put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. She looked up to him, and he smiled, <em> ‘It’s okay. I’m coming with you.’ </em> </p><p>Nina deflated as she seemed to read and understand his expression, but her shoulders stayed tense. </p><p>She was probably just worried about being grounded. The fact that she didn’t know the full story was comforting. She didn’t need to. He would protect her from it.</p><p>“I’m heading to Nina’s room. We’re actually in a bit of trouble, so if you could keep quiet about seeing us here, that’d be great, Al,” Ed scratched the back of his neck with his automail, but his flesh hand kept a comforting grip on Nina’s shoulder. </p><p>Al squinted. “What did you do this time?”</p><p>“Nothing!” </p><p>“You’re lying, and we both know it,” Al said. “It was nice of Mr. Tucker to help us, so you can’t run around being a fool! He’ll kick us out.”</p><p>“Yeah, Al, I know,” He was aware of that fact. It had dangled over his head the entire time he was in that room. It was part of why he didn’t entertain telling anybody about what happened, or running back then. And he <em> knew </em> he was a stupid fucking idiot, but that didn’t mean Al had to remind him. He tightened his automail fist. The metal groaned as he dug his fingers in and out of its palm. “ <em> I know, </em>okay? Stop nagging.”</p><p>“I’m not nagging,” Al said. “You need to be more careful, though-”</p><p>“You’re still nagging,” Ed deadpanned. “I’m the older brother, okay? It’s already been dealt with,” Ed waved his hand. Al looked ready to speak, but Ed interrupted him. The longer they talked about it, the more shitty he felt. He just wanted to be over it and pretend it never happened. “<em> It’s fine. </em>Drop it,” he gritted through his teeth. </p><p>Al sighed. “Okay, brother.”</p><p>There was silence once more. Ed cleared his throat. “We’re gonna leave, now,” The words were awkward and stiff in Ed’s mouth. He wasn’t sure where else to go in conversation from there, and the sooner Nina was safe in her room, the better he’d feel. “I hope the library was fun. I’ll be with Nina, if you need us.”</p><p>Al looked ready to speak, but he nodded and glanced away. Ed got the feeling this conversation probably wasn’t over. </p><p>Nina tugged on his shirt for his attention- so quickly, <em> too quickly, </em>without warning, and he nearly flinched. She motioned down the hall to her room, and he took a deep breath.</p><p>What the fuck was wrong with him?</p><p>He needed to get over this- this <em> irrational fear</em>, and these stupid memories that kept coming back to him. It happened hours ago. He couldn’t avoid Tucker forever, and if Al started getting too suspicious, Ed knew he would break and spill it all eventually. He couldn’t do that. It was too embarrassing, and he couldn’t risk pissing Tucker off.</p><p>Who cared if he was uncomfortable, anyways? Nobody would give a shit aside from his brother. To the outside world, he’d just be some orphan who couldn’t take a little bit of corporal punishment. It didn’t matter if the bruises that adorned his back hurt him when he laid down, or that the thought of Tucker catching Nina outside of her room nearly gave him a heart attack. </p><p>Or how on some level, he had desperately wanted Tucker to show him he was going to be different from all the other adults, that he wasn’t going to leave or die or beat Ed up any time he made a careless mistake. The joke was on Ed, really, he had told himself not to get his hopes up. And if Teacher had always reacted the same way that Tucker did, what was different aside from a few minute details? What change did being naked, or it being in his room, or the location of the beating have anyways? Why wasn’t it the same?</p><p>The look in Tucker’s eyes. It was that. Ed didn’t know what it was; He understood what was happening, on the surface level, or at least pretended he did, but <em> something else </em>was there, something weird. Ed was missing something, and he couldn’t figure out what it was, despite how many times he spun the memories around in his mind and fished through the details for clues.</p><p>And <em> that </em>scared him.</p><p>But he was over it. He had to be over it.</p><p>He didn’t even realize he had been stomping down the hall the entire trip to Nina’s room. His thoughts were too loud, too distracting- God, he just wanted it all to shut up.</p><p>---</p><p>They played for a few hours. Nina seemed to calm down with time, and Ed found himself letting his hair down- Literally. She braided and unbraided and gave him all sorts of crazy styles. It was only when she’d fished out her kiddie scissors that he forced himself to draw the line and talk her down. She frowned, but went back to work regardless. </p><p>“You should be a hairstylist when you’re older,” he joked. She’d braided his hair into multiple parts, each having a different thing woven in, with the objects of choice growing more outrageous as time went on. Pencils and plastic cars hung loosely down his face, caught on the golden strands. It was probably going to be a pain in the ass to undo later, but it was funny enough to be worth it. “You’d enjoy it. And then you’d get paid to do all the wacky stuff you want.”</p><p>She hummed and grabbed a small, 3 inch doll, beginning to work it into a particularly large part of hair. “Maybe,” She tugged softly and arranged the locks to wrap around the torso of the toy. “Dad said you’re here to study alchemy with him. Is that what you want to do when you grow up?”</p><p>Ed shrugged. “You could say that.”</p><p>“Would you still play with me, then?” He couldn’t see her face, but her voice wavered a little. “When you’re all grown up, and you have to work all the time?”</p><p>Ed sighed. He couldn’t lie to her- He’d just be doing her a disservice. Because truthfully, he’d be working constantly once he passed his test. Be it military assignments or searching for a way to get him and Al back to normal. He really didn’t know how much time he had to spare. “I’ll try, Nina.”</p><p>“That’s what daddy says too,” Her hands stopped, hovering just above his shoulders. “That he’ll try. Mommy said it too, before..”</p><p>“I know,” Ed frowned. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>She was silent as her hands retreated. Ed turned his head to get a better look at her. Her eyes were glossy, her lip wobbling unsteadily and her shoulders hunched. He felt a pang in his heart at the sight. </p><p>He let out a deep breath and hoped he wouldn’t regret what he was about to say. </p><p>“Y’know, my dad was never around much growing up either,” he smiled. It was more pained than he would have liked and it was shaky, but it was a smile. Her eyes met his, willing him to continue. “And it sucked. The piece of sh- Poopy head-” He corrected. It sounded immature and was bitter on his tongue, making him feel like he was a child again, maybe even more so than the memories. “Never came back. And we waited. For a long time.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” he let out a laugh. It was bitter and at it, Nina furrowed her eyebrows. He fiddled with one of the dinosaurs she’d put in his hair. “Never got to ask. Don’t think I’d care about the answer, anyways.”</p><p>“What I guess I’m tryna say is- People let you down sometimes. I’ll do what I can to not be one of them, y’know?” He hoped that was enough. He hated talking about his dad, but if it made her feel less alone, he guessed it might just be worth it. Something good coming out of something bad, or whatever the fuck people say to make themselves feel better about the shit life throws at them. </p><p>“Okay,” she nodded. At that moment, everything about her seemed older than 5, how forlorn, but hopeful, and yet <em> tired </em>she seemed. It almost confused him, but there was a sense of comradery. He knew what it was like to grow up early. He just wished she wouldn’t have to.</p><p> He wondered if this is what people meant when they’d say he was “mature” for his age, but it was easier to pretend that had more to do with his mouth than anything else. A lot of people get thrown for a loop when an 11 year old- <em> Almost </em>12- says fuck. It was kinda funny, if you asked him, to defy people’s expectations. To whip out the hook, line, and sinker that was his personality and alchemic talent and show off, because he’d always be a performer at heart. Maybe he would’ve gone into theatre if he could stand sitting still long enough to put on the costumes and stuff. He would’ve done a lot of things if life were different. </p><p>He didn’t entertain those thoughts; Better to focus on the present and future. </p><p>“You hungry?” He asked. “I’ll snag you some food if you want.” </p><p>They hadn’t heard from Tucker, so Nina was still grounded to her room by technicality.</p><p>“Waffles with whipped cream?” </p><p>“C’mon, you know that’s practically dessert,” he teased. “You need something healthy so you can grow up strong.” </p><p>Ed knew he was being hypocritical. He lived off of take out and the cheapest canned stuff he could snag from the dollar store, but Nina wasn’t old enough to ruin her diet yet. Years of taking care of Al made saying no to stuff like this easy. His brother would always be the master of conniving and pleading to get what he wanted.</p><p>And then she hit him with the puppy dog eyes. </p><p>Fuck. Easier, maybe. </p><p>“That’s not gonna work on me,” It was 100% working. He crossed his arms. “I have a stone cold, rotting heart, ask anyone and they’ll tell ya. So put them away.”</p><p>Nina pouted, but Ed knew a fake when he saw one. </p><p>“Okay,” She said, ever forlorn, ever dramatic. It really wasn’t fair. He was doing the right thing, but he still felt bad. At least she wasn’t throwing a tantrum. </p><p>“Mac n cheese?” She asked hopefully.</p><p>“Got it. I’ll be right back, then,” he grinned. </p><p>He made his way down the hall. His steps were brisk, uneven feet hitting the wooden floorboards in a rhythm. It was easy to get lost in his thoughts. The mansion was scarcely decorated aside from the occasional painting hung or the cracked doors that gave a peak into guest bedrooms. It made it feel un-lived in, at times. He wondered how someone could ever want a home this big. It was far too quiet.</p><p>Wood floors gave way to tile, and soon, he was in the kitchen. He heard voices gliding down the hall. He stiffened, it was Tucker and.. Hughes?</p><p>He peeked his head around the corner. Sure enough, there they were. </p><p>Hughes said something before spotting him out of the corner of his eye. “Yo! Edward,” he waved. Ed was uncharacteristically thankful the man was there, just because he was over what happened- And he <em> was- </em>didn’t mean he wanted to see Tucker.  “I was wondering-” Hughes cut off, eyeing him up and down, before a gleeful grin worked its way into his features.</p><p>"Ed, buddy," The man was very, very obviously on the verge of laughter. He wasn't even trying to hide it. "Are those- Are those Polly Pockets in your hair?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p><em> "Oh my god." </em> The phrase was said in one short breath, and then he was hunched over and cackling. He chuckled for a few seconds, before pausing for some air, looking at Tucker, and motioning to Ed with his hand. "All that edge and sass, and he's walking around like this. I always knew it was for show."</p><p>"Shut up," Ed glared, but it was hard to be threatening when he had miscellaneous objects hanging from his scalp. </p><p>"Wait here, I need my camera-"</p><p>"Why are you here, Hughes?" Ed snapped. All of his blood had long since rushed to his cheeks, staining them a bright crimson.</p><p>"Oh, right!" Hughes collected himself in an instant. "I was inviting you to dinner. Gracia's making roast beef, and it's going to be absolutely delicious, but you already knew that, because everything she makes is-"</p><p>Ed opened his mouth to speak, but Tucker cut him off. “I'm afraid he’s rather busy with his studies right now- Mind coming back another time?”</p><p>His heart quickened. He was definitely <em> not </em>busy studying, so why did Tucker want him there? </p><p>“Nonsense,” Hughes waved his hand. “Gracia is way cooler than some nerd alchemy stuff anyways.</p><p>Tucker frowned. “This really isn’t the time, Major Hughes.”</p><p>“I think Ed can answer that for himself,” Hughes threw a smile in his direction, and Ed returned it with a hesitant grin. “What’da say?”</p><p>“Yeah, I am getting kinda hungry,” Ed’s stomach growled as if to prove his point. Hunger was part of it, but he mostly just wanted to get out of the room. Out of the house. Out of Tucker’s sight. “I gotta cook for Nina before I go, though-”</p><p>“Oh, that’s no problem. She can come too!” Hughes turned to Tucker, who’s expression was unreadable. “If it’s alright with her father, of course.”</p><p>Tucker paused before letting out a sigh. “Yes, alright. Just have her home in a few hours, her school orientation is tomorrow.”</p><p>“Of course! We wouldn’t want her missing such a big day,” Hughes grinned. “Car’s waiting, Ed. I can grab Alphonse,” He glanced down at Ed's hair. "That way you can <em> freshen up." </em></p><p>"Maybe I like it," Ed glared. "Maybe it's my new style, Hughes. Maybe you're mocking my self expression. Ever think of that?"</p><p>Hughes laughed. "Alright, Mr. Polly Pocket. Take them out if you want, but leave the snark in the car."</p><p>---</p><p>Dinner at the Hughes’s was nice- As it often was. Comforting and domestic, just the kind of thing Ed didn’t know he needed. He barely even thought about the day’s earlier events the whole time, too caught up in Maes’s antics, the food, and Gracia’s light conversation. </p><p>Nina and Al seemed to enjoy themselves as well, Nina especially. Maes always jumped at any opportunity to spoil a kid, whether they were his or not. And with Gracia due, he had joked that this was just “practice” for the real thing. </p><p>Ed found himself smiling as he recalled the time he had on the car ride back. He hadn’t known the Hughes’s long, but they were so accepting of him and his brother that it was difficult <em> not </em>to enjoy himself. Even if he’d never admit it. He still had to keep up appearances and all that. </p><p>His eyes traced the landmarks of Central as they drove. Avenue after avenue, each one pitch black, except for the lamps that lit the streets just enough for them to be visible. People had long since filed into their homes and gone to bed. The road below the car was smooth, a bump from a spare rock here and there, but otherwise rather peaceful. He found his eyes growing heavy. Light chatter filled his ears, Al and Hughes were talking about some radio show, and Nina passed out a while ago. He smiled. At that moment, everything was at ease.</p><p>When they arrived back home, Ed’s stomach fell a bit. He really would’ve liked to say longer, but Nina was tired and had her kindergarten orientation. Ed barely remembered his. There wasn’t much to introduce in Risembool. The schools were small and you already knew everyone there, but Central was different, being a city and all.</p><p>He ran his thumb down the grooves of the house key Tucker had lent him. He’d been given it just a few days prior, but in his mind, it felt like a century. He tucked it into his coat pocket. The right one, as the left was filled with candy that Gracia had given him before he went home and the others were jammed with the toys he'd removed from his hair before dinner. He had to make sure he put the key in the same spot every time, lest he misplace it. </p><p>Nina had long passed out, now resting in Al’s arms, she snored softly. Her cheek was pressed against his chestplate. Al readjusted her as they walked into the house, trying his best not to wake the resting girl. They made their way into the living room.</p><p>Tucker sat on the coach, book in hand, with pinched eyebrows. Almost every light in the house was off, save for the reading lamp he had been using. The darkness shrouded the man’s expression. </p><p>“It’s late.” </p><p>“Sorry,” Al shuffled Nina a bit. “Dinner took longer than we’d thought it would, and then Mr. Hughes whipped out the photo albums. We couldn’t have left if we tried.”</p><p>“And trust me, we tried,” Ed deadpanned.</p><p>Tucker sighed. “I don’t want the three of you staying out so late, alright?”</p><p>“It’s just the Hughes’s,” Ed scoffed. “They’re military. It’s not like they’re gonna murder us or somethin’.”</p><p>“That’s not what I meant,” Tucker’s eyes bore into Ed’s, the only part of his expression caught in the light. Ed swallowed in response. He remembered how unnerving they were, electric blue, almost alarming in their saturation. “It’s not healthy, you ought to be in bed at a decent hour.”</p><p>“We can take care of ourselves,” Ed rolled his eyes. Why was Tucker acting like this? Like he gave a shit? Before, it had almost been nice, when it was just asking what Ed wanted for dinner, or buying Al a present. Now it felt insincere. Off-kilter. “What are you, our dad?”</p><p>“Legally, yes, I am,” Tucker was straight faced. As if he was reciting alchemic formulas and not dropping a sentence that may have been factual, but still had a way of shaking Ed to the core. Ed furrowed his eyebrows harder. His automail was clenched tightly enough to shudder, and as Tucker’s gaze traveled down to see it, the man let out a sigh. “I’m simply concerned, Edward. No need to get so emotional.”</p><p>“I am <em> not </em>being emotional-”</p><p>“Brother, cut it out. He’s right,” Al shook his head and turned his sight to Tucker. “Thank you, for your concern.”</p><p>“Of course,” The man nodded. “If you would take Nina to her room, Alphonse, that would be much appreciated.”</p><p>“Yes sir,” Al readjusted Nina once more. He walked until his body was immersed in the darkness and far down the hallway. As the last glint of metal shone through the shadows and withdrew up the stairs, Ed’s stomach sank. He didn’t want to be alone with the man.</p><p>How pathetic.</p><p>He took a steadying breath. No. He had to do this. He had to be by himself with Tucker so he could prove it was okay. He was over it. It happened hours ago, and he was strong, so he wasn’t going to keep thinking about it.</p><p>He couldn’t avoid Tucker forever. Well, maybe he <em> could, </em>but he was still learning from the man and staying in his home. He couldn't afford to lose resources by making a big deal out of nothing. </p><p>
  <em> Just act like everything’s normal. </em>
</p><p>Ed was great at acting like everything was normal. He’d been doing it for years. His entire life had been a string of horrible events that he stayed strong through. If he hadn't, everything would've fallen apart. </p><p>
  <em> He was fine.  </em>
</p><p>“Edward, have a seat,” Tucker patted the cushion next to him and moved to make room. Ed swallowed. </p><p>“I’ll stand.”</p><p>“Alright then,” Tucker let out a breath of air. “I really want to make this comfortable for you, Edward, but you need to work with me.”</p><p>“I’m workin’ just fine,'' he scuffed his boot against the carpet. “I dunno what you’re talking about.”</p><p>“You’re still upset.”</p><p>“About what?” Ed clutched his other hand. The fingernails dug crescents into his palm. The pain distracted him, grounded him just enough for his thoughts to sort themselves out, and it let him think clearly without thinking at all.</p><p>“Earlier.”</p><p>“I’m fine,” Ed crossed his arms and huddled into himself.</p><p>
  <em> He wasn’t scared. </em>
</p><p>“I really didn’t want to do that,” Ed glanced over to Tucker. He kept silent, and allowed the man to continue. “You brought it on yourself. If you had been better behaved, it wouldn’t have happened.”</p><p>Nope. Not scared. Ed furrowed his eyebrows into a shaky glare.</p><p>
  <em> He was fucking pissed.  </em>
</p><p>The realization hit him like a sledgehammer. Painful, but almost freeing in a way. He was <em> livid. </em> And anger, anger he could deal with. He was good at being irate. It fit him, and it was much better than how stupidly jumpy and self-pitying he’d been all day.</p><p>Parts of what happened had been a <em> little </em> fucked up. He could admit that now. </p><p>His fist shook. The fingernails went deeper. Deep enough to draw blood. Oh, he could <em> definitely </em> fucking admit that now. </p><p>He glared at Tucker with all of the emotion, all of the fury, he could put into it. Blood rushed to his cheeks. The upset that he had kept suppressed under denial and hurt for the past 12 hours came back with vengeance.  “You <em> spanked </em>me like some- some kind of toddler!” </p><p>“Because you were acting like one.”</p><p>Ed’s breathing was ragged. His throat was tight like it was trying to stop him from saying any more, from humiliating himself further. “But that didn’t mean you could just <em> do </em>something like that!”</p><p>“Every action has an equal opposite reaction. You’re a scientist, Ed, so you understand. You acted out and I was forced to react. Simple as that.”</p><p>Ed was silent, trying to contain his anger. Trying to resist the urge to deck him in the face, really. Tucker took that as a signal to continue.</p><p>“Like I said, Ed. I care. I wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t need it.”</p><p>“You threatened <em> Nina,” </em> He snarled. “Your own <em> fucking daughter</em>. You said if I didn’t let you beat me, you’d do it to her instead. What the hell was I supposed to do?”</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Edward, because I never said that,” Tucker stood. The man drew nearer, each step making his face more visible. The narrowed eyes, lips pulled taut, and light crows feet were pronounced in the soft, ambient light. He was close. Too close. Ed found himself backing away on instinct. His heart hammered in his chest and his breath hitched with every syllable.  “I said that you could take her punishment for her. I never said I would beat her, and frankly, that’s a generous word for what happened to you. It was a light reprimand. Nothing more.”</p><p>He had to be joking, right? Because Ed wasn’t deaf. He’d heard what the man said, and there was no way he was making this up. </p><p>“You’re lying.”</p><p>“I’m not, Edward. I don’t know where you got that from, but I would never hurt my daughter,” his voice was steady and a little exacerbated. Ed almost wanted to laugh at that. Tucker was acting like <em> Ed </em>was the problem here, when he obviously wasn’t. </p><p>Right?</p><p>“I want you- All three of you- To be safe, and I’m willing to do what it takes to make sure you all grow up to be happy, healthy adults.”</p><p>And fuck Tucker. Fuck his house, fuck his state title, fuck his face, and fuck his stupid, ugly, empty house again, because in that moment, it really sounded like he <em> did care. </em>And that was devastating. Because Ed wanted to trust him. He wanted, still, desperately, for the man to prove him wrong. For him to be telling the truth. He wanted to ignore the memories, have them not be real, have none of what happened be real.</p><p>But then he'd just be deluding himself. And Ed, for all that he was worth, believed in facing reality head on.</p><p>“I’m going to bed,” Ed grit his teeth. “And I want you to shut up and stop acting like my parent, because you <em> aren’t. </em>And quit saying you care, because I know you don’t, asshole.”</p><p>“Now you’re just being rude for the sake of it,” Tucker crossed his arms. The movement almost made Ed flinch. Almost. “Deny it all day long, but I do care. I wouldn’t have taken you and Alphonse in and kept your secret if I didn’t. You should be thankful.”</p><p>“What, so now I owe you something, bastard? You think letting us sleep in your house for a bit puts me in your debt or something?” It did, but Ed was too angry to acknowledge that. “You think you can just throw me around and I won’t say anything because I’m too <em> happy </em> someone finally <em> gave a shit </em>?”</p><p>“I never said that, Edward,” Tucker scoffed. “And I never ‘threw you around’.”</p><p>“You’re such a <em>liar</em>.”</p><p>“You’re grating my patience.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, you grated mine first.”</p><p>“I didn’t think it would upset you this much,” The corners of Tucker’s mouth pulled into a frown. “I really thought you could take it. Being a prodigy and all. Perhaps I was wrong.”</p><p>Ed swallowed and hardened his glare. “Shut up.”</p><p>“In fact,” Tucker continued. “If I were a cruder man, I’d teach you a lesson about discipline right now. You could certainly use it, it seems your parents didn’t teach you a lick of respect-”</p><p>“Shut the fuck up!” Ed was shaking. He lifted his head higher to meet Tucker’s gaze. His cold, uncaring, analyzing, <em>weird </em>gaze. And as he peered into it, he still wished he could understand what the man was thinking, and he felt smaller than he had in years. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he spat. </p><p>“But I do,” Tucker smiled. It was as insincere as everything else about the man, completely calculated, like it was made in a lab and manufactured. “I know you’re a runt with big dreams, who thinks he’s worth a damn just because he’s a prodigy, but still manages to mess up anything good in his life. I know because <em> I was you</em>, Edward. I know what it’s like. I want to help you.”</p><p>“No, you don’t,” Ed was clinging to those words with everything he had. He couldn’t get his hopes up. He couldn’t.</p><p>“Why wouldn’t I?”</p><p>Ed was silent. There were a lot of reasons, actually, but if he thought about them, he might just fall apart. So instead, he said-</p><p>“I don’t need your help.”</p><p>The words hung in the air, much like the long, drawn out chime of a doorbell, foreboding for what was to come. Tucker furrowed his eyebrows.</p><p>“Okay, then get out of my house.”</p><p>Ed’s brain stopped. Tucker couldn’t be serious, right?</p><p>“What?” It was meant to be angry, to show Tucker just how <em> pissed </em>he was, but it came out soft. Disbelieving. </p><p>“Get out of my house,” Tucker crossed his arms. “You’re only staying here because I agreed to let you. If you don’t want my help, leave.”</p><p>“You can’t be serious.” </p><p>“I am.”</p><p>Ed took a deep breath, tensed his shoulders, and put all the force he could muster into one word.</p><p>“No.” </p><p>Tucker raised an eyebrow. </p><p>Ed grit his teeth. “No. I’m not leaving.” He needed to stay. He needed that library, the research, Tucker’s credibility. He couldn’t get kicked out. He needed to pass that test if he wanted Al back to normal. That would always take priority. </p><p>“Then apologize.”</p><p>“I’m not going to do that either, Tucker.”</p><p>“Those are your options, Edward. Apologize for being insolent, or leave.”</p><p>Ed leveled his glare. He was at a crossroads and he only had a few seconds to jump out of the way before the train rammed into him. He wanted to storm out of the room, cloak flowing, glaring like a maniac, and prove his point. He wanted Tucker to know just how dead wrong he was, that Ed didn’t need his help and he could cut him loose as soon as he wanted to.</p><p>But that wasn’t the truth. </p><p>It wasn’t the truth, and there was nothing Ed could do about it.</p><p>“Fine,” he hissed. “Sorry,” the word was burning on his tongue. He spat it out before he could keep it in long enough to scald him. With it, went his pride, and a little bit of the anger. “I’m sorry. That make you happy, asshole?”</p><p>“Say it like you mean it, Edward.”</p><p>“Already did.”</p><p>Tucker sighed. “Maybe it’s better if you go to bed after all. I think you’re worked up because you’re tired. We’ll talk more in the morning, alright?”</p><p>“I’m <em> not </em>worked up!-”</p><p>“Of course you’re not. Run along now,” Tucker waved his hand. </p><p>“Don’t tell me what to do,” Ed muttered under his breath. He dodged out of Tucker's way and sulked up the stairs. </p><p>With every stomp of his boots, he just felt worse. A voice that sounded suspiciously like his brother was berating him for being an idiot and antagonizing Tucker, but it was overruled by residual rage. He was just too upset to care. The consequences of his stupid, stupid actions could wait until morning, after he’d slept.</p><p>With his platforms still on, he threw himself into bed, unable to be bothered to greet his brother or take a shower. He hissed when the tender flesh of his back hit a spring in the mattress. The memories it brought back only served to aid the pressure that was building inside of him, one that threatened to pop off at any moment and erupt. The only thing standing between him and absolutely losing it was a good night's rest.</p><p>“Brother,” Al’s voice was soft. “Why are you upset?”</p><p>“It’s fine, Al,” He burrowed his head into his pillow. “You can go back to reading.”</p><p>Metal scraped against wood and Ed knew he must’ve stood up. As his brother approached, Ed covered himself with more blankets, as if it were a shield that could protect him from unwanted questions. </p><p>Al sat at the edge of his bed. There almost wasn’t enough room. The mattress groaned and indented under the weight of the armor, and he brought a gauntlet to Ed’s face before brushing a lock of hair away. The cool leather was rough in texture, almost irritating to his flesh, but it was like a salve to his heart. Ed let out a shaky breath. </p><p>“Why don’t you tell me what happened?”</p><p>“It’s stupid.”</p><p>“You’re upset, so obviously it’s not.”</p><p>Ed curled a little tighter and shook his head. “Don’t wanna talk ‘bout it.”</p><p>“Okay,” and that was one thing Ed loved about Al. He knew when to push for information, and when to leave it alone. “Do you want me to read out loud until you fall asleep?”</p><p>“I’m not 5, Al.”</p><p>“I never said you were.”</p><p>Ed chuckled into his pillow.</p><p>Al brought a hand down to rub his back. He hit a raw spot, and Ed winced. </p><p>“Are you okay?” Al shifted to try and get a better look at him, but Ed didn’t budge. “Brother?”</p><p>Was he okay? It didn’t feel like it right now. The anger was filtering out and leaving something much deeper, much more raw behind. </p><p>“Yeah, Al. But I’ll be better when you’re back to normal.”</p><p>Al sighed and ran cold, unfeeling fingers through Ed’s hair before he picked up his alchemy textbook and began to read with that pained, wistful, hollow voice. Ed’s throat tightened. </p><p>Tucker really would’ve kicked them out. Ed had almost ruined his brother's chance at happiness. </p><p>How selfish could he be? </p><p>He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but it couldn’t have been long. He drifted off with a newfound, rekindled sense of determination. He would make this right. Pride was the sin that got him here, so it only made sense that casting it aside would get him out.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I put most of the trigger warnings in the tags, but as there's only one instance of this, I'm just gonna put it here. There's some ableist language in this chapter. Not a lot, but I think it's worth mentioning.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ed woke up to soft, ambient light. It flitted from the single window in his bedroom and doused everything in an amber glow that meant it couldn’t be later than 7 AM. The rumbling of morning traffic was soft, barely able to be heard, and he was almost tempted to fall back into the depths of his slumber. He might've, if his back weren’t slick with sweat and his heart wasn't pounding in his chest with fluttering thumps. He sighed. He couldn’t recall what his dreams were about, but they couldn’t have been pleasant.</p><p> He blinked the sleep out of his eyes. They felt heavy, even after resting. Al hadn’t moved from his spot on the bed and Ed realized that at some point during the night, his brother had held his hand. Flesh and leather fingers were interlaced.</p><p>“Brother,” Al set his book down. It barely made a noise as it hit the soft comforter. “Good morning.”</p><p>Ed gave himself a moment to resituate into the land of the living. He wiped the drool from his mouth, some of which had crusted. It left a mark on his sleeve. “Mornin’.” </p><p>Al was silent like he was debating something. Ed didn’t like that kind of stillness. His brother was walking on eggshells, desperately trying not to break any, but also not wanting Ed to notice that he was doing it in the first place. </p><p>“How did you sleep?” </p><p>“Fine.”</p><p>Al turned his helmet towards the wall and took another step over the eggshells that adorned this conversation like landmines.  </p><p>“You were whimpering. Earlier,” Al said. Ed could tell the tone was meant to be conversational rather than accusing. It just came out strained.</p><p>Ed worried his lip. “Oh.”</p><p>“Brother,” Al began. Ed felt his stomach sink a little. In that one word, he conveyed so much worry. “You haven’t had a nightmare in months.”</p><p>“Well, guess they came back.”</p><p>“Would you at least tell me what it was about?”</p><p>“Don’t remember.”</p><p>“Of course you don’t,” Al scoffed. That wasn’t fair, he really didn’t. Al studied him, peering into his soul like he wanted to convey his concern and force a guilt-trip by gaze alone. He was doing a pretty damn good job, if Ed was being honest. “What’s going on? Does this have to do with last night?”</p><p>Ed sat up. His back protested with a hardy dose of pain, as if Ed were to blame for it’s battered condition. His ports weren’t in much of a better mood. Maybe he should’ve been nicer to them yesterday, but at this point, it was already done. </p><p>“No,” Ed lied. “My brain’s just being stupid. Wouldn’t be the first time.”</p><p>“I wish you would talk to me.”</p><p>Ed withdrew his flesh hand from Al’s gauntlet and picked at the nail bed. </p><p>“I am.”</p><p>“You know what I mean.”</p><p>He didn’t want to deal with Al when he was in a mood like this. He hobbled from the bed, unable to stop the hiss that crawled through his throat when his feet met the floorboards. Al stood to help, as he always did, and Ed waved him off, as he always did. He rested his arm on the nearby desk, leaned his weight onto his right side, and grit his teeth. He didn’t think he could ever be so thankful for furniture. </p><p>The cream Tucker had brought just yesterday was still perched on its corner. If Ed could make himself touch it it might’ve been tempting. At this point he refused out of spite. </p><p>He really should get over that before he did what he planned to do, though.</p><p>He put pressure on his left leg. It was painful, sure, but he eased into it, did some stretches, and after 30 seconds, he was able to walk. He made his way to the bathroom door. Only a few uneven footfalls passed in silence, and he really wished it would stay that way, just for a bit.</p><p>“Brother-”</p><p>“I’m gonna go shower, Al,” Ed put his hand on the bathroom doorknob. “Start on those codes from the other day for me. I gotta take care of something, but I’ll meet you in an hour.”</p><p>“Okay,” Ed couldn’t see Al’s body language, but his voice was soft when he spoke. He had long since retreated from the eggshells, now standing back at the starting point. None were broken, but nothing had changed. “I’ll go get started, then.”</p><p>---</p><p>When he peeled off his shirt and glanced in the mirror, he hadn’t given himself time to brace for what he’d see. Honestly, he hadn’t even wanted to look at it. </p><p>A part of him wished he didn’t.</p><p>Bright, angry red lines were drawn from his sacrum to his shoulders. Outlined in splotches of purple, they were tender when his fingers prodded them. He let out a shaky breath and tried to ignore the feelings of nausea they brought back. </p><p>His resolve hadn’t crumbled, though, even at the sight of the wounds that felt like they ran far deeper than a few bruises on his back. He’d been injured before. Ask any doctor and they’d say they were superficial. He was fine.</p><p>But that didn’t quell the dryness in his mouth, or how his stomach churned in tandem with the memories that played out in his mind as they mocked him. Punching the mirror so the image before him would become fragments across the tile floor, rather than these confusing, hurt, mixed emotions, was becoming an alarmingly tempting option. Much better than standing there, unable to look away, as he wondered what he should’ve done differently. </p><p>Eventually he forced himself to peel his eyes off of the purple and red, if only so he could get this all over and done with.</p><p>---</p><p>He swallowed his pride once again. It was jagged as it went down his throat, but with it, the hurt pooled somewhere deep in his gut, able to be better suppressed and no longer threatening to exit through words he’d regret, if he were to open his mouth. He had his time to be angry the night before. He needed to make things right, to make sure they wouldn't get kicked out. He couldn't take the guilt if he let his brother down a second time. </p><p>The front of Tucker’s door loomed above him. His hair was damp from the shower and the water soaked through the band tee below it until the moisture was sticky on his shoulders. It didn’t help him feel any more comfortable. Half-formed, honestly insincere apologies were running through his mind, ready to spill from his lips the moment he could fully shut up that little voice in his head telling him to flee. Edward Elric did not say sorry as a rule, but he also didn’t let shit like this happen to him in the first place, so he supposed it was a week full of surprises. </p><p>He just couldn’t risk losing this opportunity for Al.</p><p>He wasn't about to say repent for defending Nina, though. Just the bare minimum. Whatever it took to smooth the creases enough to give him some wiggle room.</p><p>The anger from the night before had cooled into a smolder. A good night's sleep and some time to deliberate had allowed the heat to dissipate. </p><p>But one spark to his temper and he might just burn the house down. </p><p>Without giving himself time to brace or back out, he brought a heavy fist to the door and pounded twice.</p><p>He really, really hoped Tucker was either not awake or not home, because every second that passed made him less willing to do this. The silence made the sound of his own heart louder and that only made his trepidation worse. </p><p>He wasn’t sure if he was relieved he didn’t have to wait any longer or anxious for what was to come when the door finally opened. </p><p>“Edward,” Tucker was dressed in his pajamas, long sleeved and dark green, with his glasses missing from his face. He squinted as he took in Ed’s form. “What a surprise.” </p><p>Ed got a very distinct feeling that to Tucker, this was not.</p><p>“I-” Ed cut himself off. All of the things he had to say were gone. He was drawing a blank and no matter how many times he screamed at his brain to get it out, <em> get this over with, </em>the words wouldn’t come.</p><p>“Take your time, Ed.”</p><p>He still hated it when Tucker said his name.</p><p>“I’m- <em> Fuck,” </em>Ed hissed. He ran a hand through his bangs and tugged on the strands.</p><p>“Why don’t you come in?” Tucker opened the door further. “It’ll be more comfortable. You can take your time.”</p><p>“I’m good,” he huffed.</p><p>He remembered what happened last time he went into that god forsaken room.</p><p>“I insist.”</p><p>“Well <em> I’m </em>good.”</p><p>“If you’re here to apologize properly, this is a horrible way to start,” Tucker crossed his arms. </p><p>“Fuck off.” </p><p>Tucker raised an eyebrow. Ed realized out of everything, that was probably not what he was supposed to say.</p><p>“Wait, no. Look-” </p><p>“Just come inside, Ed. There’s nothing to be nervous about.”</p><p>His tongue was a boulder in his mouth, heavy and suffocating. On it was written about a million different choice words he wanted to say at the moment. Each and every one ended in him doing <em> anything </em>but that. </p><p>He swallowed them all. </p><p>“<em> Fine.” </em></p><p>He stepped inside. Tucker closed the door behind him. </p><p>It was exactly how he remembered it. Clothes strewn about the floor, dirty dishes, bathroom light that stayed eternally on, the whole shabang. It was just a room. There was nothing, nothing at all, that was special about it. </p><p>“So,” Tucker spoke behind him, and he nearly jumped. The tension was palpable, made all the worse by how confining the small space felt. </p><p>Ed swallowed. “So.”</p><p>He was an alchemist, not a conversationalist. Conniving with pretty words to get what you want was Mustang’s thing. If there was one thing Ed was worse at than apologizing, it was charming people and forming truces. This required all three. It was especially hard when people <em> whipped him with a belt while he was naked and- </em></p><p>Stop. Don’t think about it.</p><p>The flame was starting to spark again. He forced it down with a promise that he'd punch a wall or something once this was all said and done. Maybe scream at Truth-God-the universe-a cockroach in the corner. Whatever the fuck was listening. He didn't really care, as long as it was <em> something. </em></p><p>He got the feeling this was going to require far more tact than he had. </p><p>And less anxiety.</p><p>Less rage.</p><p>And for the aching in his back to subside long enough for him to focus on something that wasn’t the memories that kept intruding.</p><p>
  <em> You’re doing this for Al. </em>
</p><p>Didn’t mean he actually knew what to do.</p><p>“So,” He started again, because Ed was nothing if not persistent. “I kinda need to not be kicked out.”</p><p>“You aren’t.” </p><p>“Yeah, but last night made me realize you could. If you wanted to,” Ed suppressed the betrayal he felt when he said that. He pursed his lips. “So I’m letting you know.”</p><p>“Is this supposed to be a request?”</p><p>“Call it what you want,” He waved his hand dismissively. The ‘asshole’ that followed was implied, but silent. Ed could show restraint when he needed to. The same hand shook, but he willed it to stop. He was starting to wish he’d just punched that mirror and gotten all the remaining rage out before he came. </p><p>As Tucker hummed, Ed averted his eyes. He felt like he was being watched again, with the same gaze that had been there yesterday. He shivered and ignored the ants that crawled over his skin, to his legs and his face, numbing everything out.</p><p>If he thought about it too long, he wasn’t sure if he could stop a repeat of last night. That was the last thing he needed. </p><p>So instead he made his brain play the Amestrian National Anthem on loop to fill the silence. He was a soon to be dog of the military anyways, might as well start with the patriotism now. </p><p>He chuckled to himself. Internal banter was also preferable to thinking about things he shouldn’t.</p><p>“You seem calmer,” Tucker noted, walking forward as he spoke, closer to where Ed stood. “I guess you really were tired.”</p><p>Ed bit his tongue. “Maybe.”</p><p>The ‘Actually you just pissed me off’ was also left unsaid. </p><p>“Good,” Tucker smiled, his voice chipper and eyes bright with approval. “I’m glad to see that we’ve worked this out and you’re over your little tantrum.”</p><p>Ed bit down harder. He didn’t trust himself to speak. </p><p>“You know,” Tucker even drew closer. Ed swallowed and kept his gaze steady on the wall. It was the closest to defying he could get without actually being offensive. “You’re much more pleasant when you’re quiet.”</p><p>He switched from biting his tongue to gritting his teeth the moment he drew blood and realized he might just cut through. “Oh yeah?” </p><p>“Yeah,” Tucker put a hand on his cheek. Ed’s eyes snapped up, now having completely forgotten about his plan to watch the wall until this was over. “It makes you much more likeable.”</p><p>He backed away from the touch. The same touch- Same hand- That had stroked his back like it was supposed to be comforting yesterday. The sensation sent tingles over his cheek and goosebumps lit up around them. It felt wrong and invasive. He shivered and crossed his arms, tensing his shoulders and huddling into himself. “Quiet or not, I could still bite your head off,” he spat.</p><p>As soon as he said that, he grit his teeth harder. Shit. He didn’t need to be a prodigy to know he should really watch his tongue. He was towing a dangerous tightrope and falling meant he might just lose everything before he even got the chance to try to get it back.</p><p>Tucker seemed almost amused, his lips quirking up and his furrowed eyebrows relaxing. It was obvious the man didn't feel nearly as threatened by Ed as Ed did him. “I’m beginning to suspect you don’t like me,” he shook his head and his expression turned more inquisitive, the look of entertainment fading as quickly as it had come. “I want to know why that is.”</p><p>Ed swallowed. “What do you mean?” </p><p>“I mean that I’m trying my best here, but no matter what I say, you’re acting out,” Tucker’s tone was stern. Like the kind of thing a father might say to their child after they get in trouble, but Tucker <em> wasn’t </em> his dad, and Ed <em> wasn’t </em>a child. “So tell me then, what do you want from me?”</p><p>What did he want from Tucker?</p><p>There were a few things, actually. </p><ol>
<li>For Tucker to leave him the fuck alone. He never wants to even <em>think</em> about the man again.</li>
<li>For Tucker to not leave. Because then it would be a pattern, and statistically speaking, that meant Hohenheim wasn’t an outlier. That Ed was the wrong variable. </li>
<li>For Tucker to be wrong about what happened yesterday. For Ed to not be going crazy, because he definitely threatened Nina and Ed was allowed to be upset. For Tucker to not care.</li>
<li>For Tucker to be right about what happened yesterday. For Ed to be overreacting, and for everything to just be okay again. For Tucker <em>to </em>care.</li>
</ol><p>Way for his brain to make things easy, huh?</p><p>Ed’s pulse was racing, raging and flooding his system with adrenaline. That familiar lividity was coming back, pumping through his veins and telling him to move and fight and scream. “How the fuck am I supposed to know?” Keeping his voice level was a challenge. “You’re the one who keeps flexing guardianship of me every chance you get, so maybe you should figure it out!” A challenge he’d failed, apparently. He glanced away.</p><p>“Edward,” Tucker said evenly. “You’re being emotional again.”</p><p>Yeah. Like he couldn’t tell. </p><p>“Edward,” Ed didn’t answer. “Look at me when I speak to you.”</p><p>‘Or what?’ He wanted to say. </p><p>But Ed wasn’t stupid. Stubborn as a mule, prideful, impulsive, and an idiot at times, but he wasn’t stupid. He was there for a reason, even if he was starting to regret going in the first place. He didn’t have room to make things worse. So he raised his gaze, Amestrian National Anthem blaring in his mind, along with a repetitive <em> this is for Alphonse. </em></p><p>“Yes, that’s it,” Tucker hummed. “Very good.”</p><p>And suddenly, the room felt a lot smaller.</p><p>“Look,” Ed said, not snarled. He needed to have some self control, no matter how much he was entertaining all of the nasty things on the tip of his tongue. He just wanted to get everything off his chest and leave. Being in that room was making him feel like a cornered, bleeding, feral animal. “Like I said, I really can’t afford to lose this chance. So whatever the hell I have to do to make sure that doesn’t happen, I will, okay? But you can’t- You can’t kick me and Al out. Especially Al. I just need until we pass the exam.”</p><p>The research Tucker had was priceless, and Ed had neither money nor somebody else to live with. The Hughes’ might've taken them in, but they were a military family and barely passed as middle class as it was. Ed would be nothing but a burden, and moving back to Risembool would defeat the purpose of burning their house down in the first place.</p><p>That left foster care or the orphanage. Fuck that noise.</p><p>“So you came to bargain just in case I changed my mind?” Tucker asked.</p><p>“Yeah,” Ed licked his lips. “Yeah, I did.”</p><p>Tucker stared at him. It felt like the man was looking for something, analyzing something, but Ed wasn’t sure what it was. </p><p>“Tell me what you have to offer, then. If you want to make things equivalent.”</p><p>“I can take care of Alexander and Nina- Walk him, pick her up from school. You’re busy, small stuff like that has to be a pain,” Ed almost accused the man of not bothering to do it in the first place, but wouldn’t that be rich, coming from him? Like he was the master of looking after others properly. In fact, if he’d been better to Nina, he wouldn’t be there. If he’d been better with Al, he’d probably still be in Risembool, leading a normal childhood. “I can cook, too. I’m pretty good at it. Cleaning, chores, whatever.”</p><p>“That’s not nearly enough to cover <em> two </em>people living here.”</p><p>“Al doesn’t eat, though, he barely costs any money.” </p><p>“You want reassurance, right?” Tucker narrowed his eyes. “Prove to me that you’re worth it.”</p><p>Ed didn’t have much else to give. He didn’t have money, or influence, or anything to offer aside from running errands and doing house stuff. And so, in a moment of childish desperation, he said 6 words. They probably took the cake for one of the worst decisions in his life, and his life had been nothing but bad decisions. </p><p>“Fine, then what <em> do </em>you want?” He snapped. He was at the end of his rope. Fresh from a nightmare, reliving a different one every second that he spent in this room, angry, nauseous, and it was beginning to feel like it was all too much. </p><p>He really, really just wanted to get this done with. It had been a few days and he was already wishing he could just take the stupid exam tomorrow.</p><p>Tucker smiled. “Come here, Ed.”</p><p>If that didn’t send the alarm bells ringing, nothing else would, because now it was <em> really </em>starting to feel like yesterday. </p><p>The flame was sparking. Just as angry, but more than that, it was fluttering to life and telling him to <em> fight. </em>It was heat, burning inside of him, threatening to consume him, because if there was one thing he was not about to do, it was getting spanked again.</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"You'll see."</p><p>“I said I’d run <em> errands, </em>Tucker," he swallowed. He couldn't- He wasn't doing that again, no matter what. </p><p>He hadn't screwed up like last time, so why was Tucker saying that? Why was he <em> looking </em> at him like that? Like he was fresh meat, and Tucker was about to tear him apart with his canines. All thoughts of keeping his cool were fleeting and panic was coming in their place. “I can’t- I cant fucking do that again. I didn’t do anything <em> wrong</em>, I can’t-”</p><p>He was drowning. It felt like it, at least, because his air was coming in puffs that were getting continuously more frantic. Panic was battling with the instinct carved into him, maybe by Teacher, maybe naturally, to fight<em>. </em>His mouth was dry, and his chest was on fire, but he was drowning. </p><p>It had only been a day. It had only been a day, and he was right back there, in one of the most humiliating moments of his life.</p><p>The room was too small. Tucker was too close and he could already see him reaching for the belt, his hand stroking his back in comforting circles. Like they were a reward, one he got for shutting up and <em> bending over- </em></p><p>“I’m not going to spank you, Ed. Just come here.”</p><p>Ed shook his head, walking backwards and burrowing further into his crossed arms.</p><p>“I won’t repeat myself.”</p><p>“I don’t believe you,” his heart was hammering, and his ears were ringing. He almost didn't hear himself speak over the white noise that surrounded him.</p><p>Tucker was blocking the door. There was no escape unless he transmuted one, but that required knowing exactly what materials composed the walls. He had to account for wood, paint, and plaster, which meant carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, gypsum- What was the formula for gypsum, again? Right, calcium-</p><p>“Edward,” Tucker spoke. The noise sent him reeling from his half-baked escape plan, which was becoming more and more recklessly pasted together by the second. “You’re being dramatic.”</p><p>“You keep saying that, but I- I don’t think I am.”</p><p>“You are. This was your idea, remember?”</p><p>He really couldn’t do this again.</p><p>"Not that," He hated how pleading he sounded and he hated how the words coming from his throat didn’t feel like they were his. "I'll fight you. I don't give a fuck, I'll deck you right in your sorry face, I'll-"</p><p>"Edward," Tucker's lips were pursed in a severe kind of annoyance. "I thought the point of this was for you not to be kicked out. Come here."</p><p>And that brought him back to the present, just enough to become aware of the world around him. His heart, pounding in his chest, the smell of fear and something else he couldn’t identify that wafted through the air, and while Ed hated admitting he was scared, he was a bit too focused on just <em> getting out </em>to care. </p><p>Tucker took a step forward. Ed took another back. </p><p>And then, he hit the wall. It sent a dull ache down his bruised back.</p><p>Plaster, wood, paint. An easy deconstruction. He could do it. He just needed to clap his hands and run.</p><p>So why wasn’t he moving?</p><p>That cornered animal analogy was becoming more literal by the second. Ed was breathing so fast he thought he might just pass out then and there, and wouldn’t that be humiliating?</p><p>But maybe it would’ve been a mercy, too.</p><p>Tucker pinned his arm- The right one, the metal one, the one Winry made specifically to <em> protect him</em>, a sign of his resolve, and his devotion to his brother, against the wall. Something nipped at Ed’s ear, and a moment later, he realized it was Tucker.</p><p>And Ed, while his fight or flight was automatically designated to fight every time-</p><p>Froze.</p><p>Because he had no idea what was happening. </p><p>Genuinely no clue. He scoured his brain for answers, but was drawing a blank. </p><p>Tucker moved down to his collarbone.</p><p>“H-Hey,” Ed swallowed. He hated the tremble in his voice, almost more than he hated himself for being stupid enough to get into this situation. “Stop that. What are you- Why are you-”</p><p>“Ed,” Tucker breathed into his shirt. The hot air was sticky against his chest, and he squirmed to get away. “Do you know what sex is?”</p><p>“What?” His voice was barely a whisper. What did that have to do with anything? Why was he so close? What the fuck was going on?</p><p>“I asked you a question. You’re a prodigy, aren’t you? Answer it.”</p><p>Not really, no. He’d heard it in passing- Radio shows- Mustang’s office- But the definition was blank from his mind. It was taboo. When he asked, adults would just shake their heads and tell him to worry about it when he was older.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>He lied. Sue him. He didn’t want to look stupid. </p><p>“Then surely you know what’s about to happen.”</p><p>No, he didn’t, and he got the feeling whatever it was would not be good. </p><p>“Agree to have sex with me, and I promise to never kick you out,” Tucker kissed his collarbone. “But you can’t tell anybody, not even your brother. You wouldn’t want to worry him over nothing, would you?” </p><p>His thoughts were going a mile a minute. He didn’t know what to do, or how to respond, or why this was happening. “I-” He swallowed. “Why?”</p><p>"Because you want your brother back to normal," Tucker paused for a moment. He touched Ed’s freshly washed, still damp hair, and pulled the hair tie from it. It fell loose and cascaded down his shoulders. Tucker dropped the elastic to the ground. It was bright red, almost distracting, and it contrasted against the dark oak planks below. "I can give you research, a roof over your head, whatever you need. All I expect in return is for you to sit still for a little bit and keep quiet. I won't be able to help you if you tell."</p><p>"I-I don't need your-"</p><p>"We've been down this path, Edward. Do you really wanna test my patience?"</p><p>He grit his teeth. No. He didn't. </p><p>He didn't know what he was agreeing to, not even by definition, but no amount of encyclopedic knowledge could've prepared him for any of what happened. </p><p>And he’d sworn to himself he’d do whatever it took to get Al back. Ed, for all he was worth, had never broken a promise. So did it really matter if he was scared, or if he wanted nothing more than for Tucker to get his hands off him? </p><p>Did any of this <em> actually </em>mean anything once they’d achieved their goal?</p><p>"Okay," He said, gritted, whispered. He wasn’t sure which. It didn’t change the outcome either way, because the answer was the same. The word was a slow-acting poison and the moment he said it it took effect. "Fine."</p><p>Tucker's hands went further down and undid the belt on his pants. It slid out from the hems, languid like a trickling stream. It was slow, methodical, like he was performing an experiment and trying to control the variables. </p><p>His actual pants came next. </p><p>And then his shirt. </p><p>Ed was back in his boxers with his heart racing, his back aching, and wasn't that familiar?</p><p>Tucker removed his own clothes.</p><p>The entire time, Ed kept his focus on the door, still unlocked, and wondered what would happen if someone walked in. </p><p>"Have you ever touched yourself?" </p><p>Tucker's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. </p><p>Ed's throat was almost too tight to speak. "What do you mean?"</p><p>"Your dick. Have you ever touched it?"</p><p>"Wh- No!" He backed away more until his entire body was flush with the wall, even more so than before, and he wished he could just phase into it and never have to look at Tucker again. He contemplated running while he could. His hands were free, and maybe he'd already said yes, but if he <em> acted right now- </em></p><p>He snuffed out that flame with a deep breath in. Which was ironic, considering oxygen fueled fire, but at the moment the air was so heavy in his lungs it could've passed for ash. He almost wondered how he was breathing in the first place. </p><p>But he was making the right choice, just like last time. It sucked for him, maybe, but what was this pain to his brother's? To anyone else's? Maybe it wouldn't even be that bad.</p><p>Tucker chuckled to himself. "You really are a virgin." </p><p>And then his hand was traveling down, down-</p><p>Ed really had nothing to lose and everything to gain. </p><p>At least, that's what he told himself. </p><p>Equivalency was a backstabbing bitch, in his opinion. Nothing was ever truly fair. Strings were always attached, and no matter how much you think you've lost, there was always more the world could take from you. He'd learned it the night he and his brother did the unforgivable-</p><p>And he learned it again that day. </p><p>Maybe saying he felt sick was an understatement. </p><p>Because between sex and a belt, he'd always take the belt.</p><p>---</p><p>Scientifically speaking, the body reacts to stimuli no matter who it’s coming from, why you’re receiving it, or how you feel about it. Pain. Pleasure. Whatever.</p><p>Ed knew this. </p><p>He washed salt from his mouth. Salt, he repeated to himself, nothing else. Just salt. Representing a 1:1 ratio of sodium and chloride ions, molar mass of 22.99 and 35.45 g/mol, and-</p><p>And thinking about it made it worse.</p><p>The body reacts to stimuli no matter what. </p><p>
  <em> He knew this.  </em>
</p><p>So why did he still feel dirty? Like he’d done something he wasn’t supposed to? It had been horrible. He would’ve done anything to get it to stop<em>, </em>but he must've been sick, because he still reacted like he enjoyed it. </p><p>Had he enjoyed it? </p><p>He felt used, rung out and left to be forgotten. It shook him in a way he hadn't been in years. He felt so caught off guard and confused, and he wasn't completely sure that any of it was actually real.</p><p>It wasn’t normal. He had to be going crazy- None of this was normal. Tucker acted like it was, but Ed wasn’t stupid, and he knew Tucker wouldn’t have told him not to tell if it was.</p><p>What was he supposed to do now?</p><p>He looked down at his leg- his automail leg- the one Winry had made him so he could stand again, and his flesh leg, the one that was still human.</p><p>Between them, he found his answer. The same thing he always told himself.</p><p>Keep walking forward. <em> Don’t look back.  </em></p><p>Simple, right?</p><p>---</p><p>He saw Al in the library 15 minutes later. 15 minutes since Tucker had finished and was done speaking to him, his words a flurry that mostly consisted of veiled threats, promises, and an assurance that this was all for Ed's sake. 30 minutes after Ed had learned what the word 'sex' actually meant. An hour from when he’d woken up, determined to do what he could to ensure they wouldn’t be kicked out eventually.</p><p>Or that Tucker wouldn’t leave.</p><p>Well, he’d always be with Ed in <em> some </em>way now. Be careful what you wish for, as they say. The thought left him faintly amused and yet even more distraught than before. Really that was the worst part, because he knew better than to trust others at this point, but he still couldn’t help but to hope for the best. He should’ve fucking known better.</p><p>Tucker had said he was doing something good. That this was normal, everyone had sex. It was nothing to be ashamed about. </p><p>How selfless he was, doing this for his brother. He’d told him it made him a good person.</p><p>He’d been quiet. Trying not to break down, really. </p><p>
  <em> “You’re doing so well.” </em>
</p><p>And now Ed was dazed, sore, and absolutely spent. He still wasn't completely grasping what had just happened, but he knew nobody could find out. </p><p>Because as quickly as Tucker would praise him for doing something right, he’d make it abundantly clear just where he and Al would end up if he told. In a lab, or maybe in foster care, because nobody else would want to adopt him with his mouth. He was a cripple, automail was expensive, and there was no guarantee he’d <em> actually </em>become a state alchemist. Ed had tried to stop listening, but it was really hard with how close Tucker had been to his ear. He’d said other things, too. </p><p>Like how nobody would believe him.</p><p>And that had hurt the most, because he couldn't prove him wrong. All Ed had as proof that people would listen to him was faith, and that was a very flimsy thing. </p><p>Who would he tell anyways? Mustang would mock him, Al would worry, Winry would cry. </p><p>He hated all of those options. And that's assuming they wouldn't assume he was lying.</p><p>Because really, what if they did?</p><p>He still didn't even understand himself, why would anyone else?</p><p>He looked down at his book. Something about alchemy in modern technology. It had old, yellowed pages, and he was sure it was fascinating. He honestly couldn't care less.</p><p>He just had to pass that test. Pass the test, get Al's body, get the hell out of there. Keep moving forward if it was the last thing he did. This was a bump in the road, a little harsh, maybe, but it got him where he needed to go. It was worth it. He made the right decision. </p><p>"Brother," Al said, because it had been 15 minutes, and now Ed was in the library. How silly. He'd almost forgotten. "Are you feeling any better?"</p><p>"Yeah, Al, think I'm just tired." </p><p>And sore. And sick. And terrified. </p><p>Pathetic, humiliated, disgusting.</p><p>Fucking stupid.</p><p>He could write a dictionary worth of words to describe him. None of them were good, and each had him closer to breaking than the last.</p><p>"Alright," Al sighed. "On another note, I was looking into some books before you came. I think they're pretty interesting, and they're probably gonna be on the test, so-" </p><p>Somewhere through his speech, Ed had forgotten if it was the left eye or the right eye you were supposed to look at when someone talked. The nose? The mouth? Neither of those transferred over to armor. </p><p>"You'd really like it,” Al finished.</p><p>"Yeah, Al, sounds great," he grinned. He put everything he could into it until his cheeks were stretched painfully wide. "Where are they?"</p><p>Al tilted his head. "You're reading one of them."</p><p>"Oh," Ed laughed. "'Course I am. I knew that."</p><p>Al just stared at him. </p><p>"Maybe you should take a nap," Al said. "You <em>do</em> look tired."</p><p>One thing Ed did not plan on doing. He knew the second his subconscious got a hold of this new layer of dog shit that was his childhood trauma, it was probably going to rip him a new one. Maybe it'd be worse than <em> actually </em>getting his ass torn apart, and wouldn't that be funny? He laughed a bit to himself. Macabre humor wasn't usually his style, but he was starting to see where the edge lords of the world were coming from. He was teetering on the edge of a cliff and the only thing stopping him from jumping was how ridiculous the situation seemed.</p><p>Ed shrugged. "I'll be okay after I wake up a bit. It's nothing serious."</p><p>He spent lunch studying and dinner throwing up. </p><p>---</p><p>Why didn't he fight back? </p><p>He was trained in self defense. It would have been so easy. One kick and it all would have been over. Someone smarter would've left. </p><p>Someone smarter wouldn't have let it go that far. </p><p>Hell, someone smarter wouldn't have said yes. </p><p><em> No</em>.</p><p>He asked for it. He <em> agreed </em>to it. Maybe he didn't know what it meant, but he consented, so he needed to get his act together. It hurt, it was embarrassing, he didn’t understand, but he'd made the choice that was going to help his brother. </p><p>He hunched over the toilet. Bile slicked his tongue and the expensive meal he'd ordered in celebration of Nina's orientation was now vomit in a public bathroom stall. He felt like shit all over.</p><p>But soon, he'd have to leave and sit down at that table again. He'd have to look at Tucker in the face and pretend his back and ass weren't still sore, pretend nothing had happened.</p><p>He wretched again. </p><p>Thank God it was flu season. Maybe he could say he was ill so everybody would leave him the fuck alone.</p><p>Maybe he was already sick. This all kinda felt like a fever dream.</p><p>He was stuck in that moment with every passing thought. He was still in a room in a mansion with a man who was supposed to take care of him, if only for legal reasons. Time stopped when the sex started. </p><p>And yet the world kept spinning as if everything was the same.</p><p>But it wasn't. </p><p>And neither was he.</p><p>He washed the vomit from his face and pulled the sleeves of his sweater down.</p><p>He really should get going. He’d already been twitchy during the ceremony. If he spent too long in the bathroom while they were out for dinner, people might start to get concerned.</p><p>---</p><p>He plopped down at the seat of the table. Well, that was a mild way of putting it. It was more of a body slam into his spot, complete with his signature scowl and cross of his arms. Everything you'd expect of him on a normal day.</p><p>The waitress hadn't even brought out the desserts yet. He still had another 30 minutes of this. </p><p>Around the table sat Hughes, Tucker, Nina, Gracia, and his brother. The Colonel, Hawkeye, and a few other military staff Ed couldn’t bother to recall the names of were in town, so they’d come along too.</p><p>For whatever reason, Tucker had invited them all to the celebratory dinner. </p><p>Figures.</p><p>Ed took a big swig of his soda. It covered the taste of stomach bile and salt.  </p><p>"I ever told y'all the story about Mrs. Perkins, the rooster, and the yard sale candles?" Ed asked. It was easier to relive childhood memories than new ones sometimes, and if he didn’t at least pretend everything was okay, he was going to end up in hysterics. </p><p>"No, Edward, I don't think you did," Hughes laughed. "Although between you and Havoc, the country folk are winning for most absurd stories. I can't imagine this one is any more tame."</p><p>"Brother," Al whined. "You can't tell that one! It involves alcohol!"</p><p>"Pshhh, Nina knows what alcohol is. Right?" </p><p>Nina took a sip of her juice and nodded. </p><p>"You're a horrible influence," Al rubbed his armored temple.</p><p>"I'm not <em> condoning </em>it, it's just funny."</p><p>"Well," Tucker said, and Ed didn't flinch, but the idea of another bathroom break was becoming more appealing. "I'd love to hear it."</p><p>Ed laughed. It was forced. He wished somebody would’ve noticed. </p><p>They didn’t.</p><p>"It's really a crazy story..."</p><p>---</p><p>They were back home. He'd said goodbye to everyone, gotten in the car, and now, he was on that familiar front porch once again.</p><p>The entire dinner had felt like he was talking through a glass wall. He could see everyone, hear them, but he felt so fundamentally different that he couldn't ever quite touch them. </p><p>He didn't look at Tucker more than he had to. Or speak. Or do anything to acknowledge the man, really. Maybe he'd regret it later, but it was as close to being rude as he could safely get. He was looking at the wall instead of his eyes again. Still in that bedroom, even after he’d left.</p><p>Tucker had insisted on sitting next to him. </p><p>At one point he'd put his hand on Ed's thigh. </p><p>Ed had jumped out of his seat and spilled half of the drinks near him. </p><p>Someone asked if he was alright. He thought about telling them no. He thought about screaming out exactly what happened then and there, because if he was going to air his dirty laundry, he may as well let the entire restaurant hear, right? He felt like at any moment people were going to look at him a second too long and just <em> know, </em>so they might as well find out on his terms.</p><p>But that wasn’t real. Nobody had noticed. He was rotting from the inside out, maggots in his chest, the scent of butyric acid and phenol hung in the air around him, and yet people treated him exactly the same.</p><p>He wasn’t sure if he should be thankful or angry. Because everything was different, but nothing had changed.</p><p>And Tucker was looking at him. With that same, horrible expression he always used, and so Ed bit his tongue and said he was fine. Because he had to be.</p><p>And now, he was on the porch. </p><p>He yawned. </p><p>"Long day?" Tucker asked. </p><p>Ed realized he wasn't the only one keeping up illusions.</p><p>"Yeah, you could say that."</p><p>He didn't miss how bitter those words were on his tongue. He doubted Tucker did either.</p><p>---</p><p>Ed layered another jacket over his turtleneck. His favorite black windbreaker. Airy and thin, and his body could barely be made out below it. Even if it was superficial, the layers made him feel protected.</p><p>People often teased him about only having one outfit, but the joke was on them. He <em> chose </em>to wear the same thing every day, but his tank top didn’t cover the marks on his neck, even with his vest over it.</p><p>"Brother?" Al started. "Aren't you hot?"</p><p>"It's cold in here," he responded blankly.</p><p>The house was 80°. He was thankful his brother couldn't tell.</p><p>“Oh," Al shifted in his seat awkwardly. "Well, the ceremony was nice, don’t you think?” Al asked, quickly changing the subject.</p><p>Right. The orientation.</p><p>The school Nina was going to attend was vast. One of Central’s best private schools or something. It had crisp, clean hallways with linoleum floors and colorful painted walls. Professional, but friendly enough to appeal to the children it was catered towards. It was where all the rich folk sent their kids so they could get into nice highschools and nicer colleges, and become functioning, happy adults. Ed was glad she was going to get a proper education. He was even more thrilled she wouldn’t be in the house so much once the school year started, because that meant she was safe, away from her father.</p><p>He wasn’t listening during the speech the school staff gave. They might’ve said something about policies at one point, but he was a bit too focused on how Tucker was next to him, only an inch of air between their bodies. </p><p>Maybe it would’ve been easier to be near the man if Ed had mentally checked out like he did with the spankings. He hadn’t. Every single minute detail was still branded into his mind. If he closed his eyes long enough, he could play it out like some sort of fucked up mental movie. </p><p>He chose not to, though. He pushed the memories down and he stood tall, because maybe he was still in that room, but that didn’t mean he had to acknowledge it. He was talking to his brother. Tucker didn’t get to touch that. Ed wouldn’t let him.</p><p>The thought was strangely empowering. He was taking the reins of his life again, and he was going to make sure what happened there stays there. At least for a bit.</p><p>Ed grabbed his brush and began working through his hair, bottom to top. He still hadn’t rebraided it since that morning. </p><p>Ed scoffed. “That school was way too big to be a kindergarten.”</p><p>A snide comment. Another thing he’d say if things were normal, because for a bit, they were going to be. </p><p>“Well, Mr. Tucker did put her in one of Central’s best education programs.”</p><p>Ed wished his brother wouldn’t drop the name so casually. </p><p>“Yeah, I guess.”</p><p>Al turned towards him. “Maybe we should enroll in school again once we have our bodies back.”  </p><p>Ed finished brushing and worked his hair into parts. Left over middle, right over left, middle over right. And repeat.</p><p>“Al, you know I was insufferable in school. All the teachers hated me.”</p><p>“Yeah, ‘cause you always talked and never paid attention.”</p><p>“It’s not <em> my </em>fault the material was easy!”</p><p>“You just don’t like people teaching you because you wanna do everything by yourself. You were like that with Teacher, too.” </p><p>There was heat in Ed’s cheeks. His brother wasn’t wrong, and he was about to respond with a quip of his own, but the braid was finished. Ed reached for the hair tie on his wrist-</p><p>And it wasn’t there.</p><p>Oh yeah. </p><p>It was probably still on the floor in Tucker’s room.</p><p>Every mental barrier came crashing down in a solid 5 seconds of pure, unhinged panic, because his elastic was missing, but he always kept it on him. And that made it real. The memories. The feelings. The smell- <em> God </em>the smell. Unbrushed teeth and cologne so thick it was suffocating, salt, fish, sweat. </p><p>Ed always kept his elastic on him, but it was gone, and he couldn’t stop thinking about how it happened. How Tucker had ripped it from his hair and ran a hand through his locks. How he had seen it, on the ground, laying there, before Tucker put a hand down his boxers and touched his-</p><p>“Brother?” And Ed’s eyes must’ve been the size of saucers, or his breathing must’ve been a bit too rapid, because Al had that eggshell voice again. “I’m only teasing.”</p><p>“Yeah, Al,” Ed wiped some sweat from his forehead and frowned when he saw the droplets on his hand. “I know, I just-” Ed took a deep, steadying breath. “Nevermind. It’s nothing.”</p><p>Just for a bit. He just wanted things to be okay for a bit. Was that really so selfish? To ask for a few minutes alone with his brother, a few minutes of intermission from the constant screaming that was happening inside his head?</p><p>Why couldn’t he stop thinking about it?</p><p>“Hey, Al,” His throat was hoarse. Maybe from emotion, maybe from other things. Either way, the words were out before he could stop them. “Do you know what sex is?”</p><p>He had to make sure. He had promised what had happened wouldn’t touch his brother, but Ed <em> had </em>to make sure.</p><p>"Wh- <em> Brother,</em>" Al huffed. "What's that have to do with anything?"</p><p>"Just answer the question."</p><p>Al just stared at him. "No, not really. Why?" His tone was soft, almost contemplating. </p><p>Ed smiled. Small mercies. </p><p>“Good.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Lemme tell you guys: This one hurt to write. Like, more than usual. I'm kinda playing updates by ear, but you can probably expect a new one from between 2 days to a week after every chapter. This may change once I'm back @ school though because that's always a bitch. Each chapter will be between 5-10,000 words long depending on the material. Idk how many there will be in all, but there's a lot of angst ahead my friends. Maybe it'll end at 60,000 words, maybe it'll end at 100,000. I don't really know. Guess it'll be a little surprise for all of us.</p><p>Also because I think it's worth saying: If you're a fellow CSA/rape survivor, I want you to know that I see you. I don't know how much that means to you, but remember that you are never alone. Please reach out for help if you need it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Trigger warning for ableist language, paranoia, and VERY graphic depictions of rape.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He still couldn't believe what was happening. Not fully. </p><p>The dull pain of the lashings he'd taken before were made sharper with every rock into the mattresses below. It was plush and any other time it might have been pleasant. His wrists were bent, pinned against the pillow, clutched in a grip so tight he wondered if they'd bruise. His knuckles hit the headboard in light taps. The friction made the sheets below him rub against his skin, the sweat that soaked them becoming yet another layer of things that were making him uncomfortable.</p><p>His eyes were watery and tears were threatening to spill. The swirling of fear in his stomach yanked whimpers from his lips, which quivered until he bit down on the bottom one hard. His teeth went deeper, ripping at flesh. It was only when copper hit his tongue that he stopped. He couldn’t have Al getting suspicious.</p><p>He couldn’t cry, either. Showing weakness wasn’t going to do anything but encourage Tucker. There wasn’t room for it, not when he needed to focus on getting through this, first and foremost. </p><p>There was another thrust, harder than before and a only few centimeters deeper, but that alone was enough to make the pain almost intolerable. He thinned his lips and took it, relaxed his muscles the best he could, but his body still tensed with every movement, and each additional inch was agony. He was being stretched to his breaking point, and at any second, it felt like something might tear. Whether it was physical, mental, or both he wasn’t sure.</p><p>He was doing the right thing. </p><p>Maybe if he kept saying it, it would sink in, and he'd stop feeling so miserable. </p><p>The entire time he kept his eyes open and watched the wall. He studied the paint, wondered where it came from, who made it. Were the walls always that color of green, or did Tucker hand pick it himself? </p><p>He couldn't make himself look Tucker in the face, but staring wide-eyed at the wall was still better than letting go completely. Every movement had him glaring harder and harder until his teeth were clenched tight enough to hurt and he wondered if Tucker could tell how angry he was. </p><p>Did he even realize what he was doing to him? How much he made him want to shrink and disappear until there was nothing left to take anymore? </p><p>Every excruciating detail was being analyzed and placed in a box in the throws of his mind. There it would wait so he could find it when he needed it, later, and he could process it then. </p><p>Because while it was happening, when there was nothing but agony and hands gripping his wrist, pulling his hair, pinning him down for display, he couldn’t do anything but cope. There wasn’t time to fall behind, even with a reality running miles ahead of him. He had to move with it, he had to be alive with it. If he didn't try, if he wasn’t present at least a bit, then he was just giving up.</p><p>Because it <em>sucked</em>. It sucked, it hurt, and he and he was going to face it head on. He was going to <em> remember. </em>Even if at that moment it was too much. Even if he couldn’t stare Tucker in the eye while he was on top of him because every time he tried, he saw the way he was being looked at. </p><p>With that acknowledgement came the familiar fire that roared to life inside of him. There's a freedom, power, whatever you want to call it, that comes with that kind of acceptance. It's small but it's there. He had a say in his circumstances. He was an active participant. It was happening with him, not <em>to </em>him.</p><p>He was in control. </p><p>But making his choice didn't mean he had to be happy or thankful. He could let himself be pissed, later, when it was safe.</p><p>Or maybe he wouldn't. Because it wasn't fair, when Tucker moaned as he went <em> in and out and in and out and it and out </em>and the only comfort Ed could find was in telling himself that it was his payment. Nothing more, nothing less. It was transactional, giving something and getting something in return. It was easier to think about it like that.</p><p>Another thrust. He resisted the urge to close his legs. The hands still gripped his wrists, metal and human, tight to the bedpost, far above his head. He couldn't clap, he couldn't move, and he'd never felt so vulnerable in his life. With the movement, the fast, painful push and pull, his biceps were starting to ache, along with his shoulders.</p><p>The sensation of skin against skin was almost too much. Tucker leaned in closer, close enough that Ed could hear the gasps he made that much more, and he tilted his head away. There was a mouth on his neck. Lips on his flesh, sucking and licking and he wondered if Tucker could taste his stomach bile when he kissed him. He wondered if he felt as sick as Ed did. </p><p>He really wished he was anywhere but there. </p><p>The anticipation between each entry was honestly the worst part. The silence that surrounded everything but their breaths, how he could feel the body above him that much more. Tucker told him before they'd started that it would be over faster if he stayed quiet. Ed hated taking advice, especially from someone who was doing- This, but he would do anything to speed up the process.</p><p>It didn't make it any less tempting, though, to scream and fight and thrash. To do everything in his power to get this to stop. </p><p>His throat was still sore from before. It was parched and rubbed raw, and he'd honestly be a bit surprised if he could talk. He was kind of distracted between it and the agony pressing into him. Besides, he got the feeling that if he spoke, he'd probably end up screaming. Whether in pain or at Tucker he wasn't sure, but both of those were things he'd rather avoid. </p><p>What would he even say anyways? </p><p><em> Get off me: </em>Ed wasn’t stupid enough to think that would work. It was better to sit still and let it play out on his terms than say no and be violated anyways. </p><p><em> Why are you doing this: </em> Did it really matter if the result was still the same? Did Ed even <em> want </em>to know?</p><p><em> I hate you: </em>The last one took him by surprise. Hate. Now that was a strong word. It was a strong feeling, too, and it was coiling in his stomach and rotting him from the inside out. He'd never hated someone before, not like this. </p><p>Tucker let go of his left wrist and he hissed at the sudden decrease in pressure. It fell back and went limp on the mattress with an undignified flop. The man’s fingers trailed down his ribs, past the marks that were blooming there, and the tickling sensation made him stiffen his muscles.</p><p>Something brushed his hip bone. </p><p>Fingers, he realized a second later. The touch was fleeting but soft and he gasped when it moved closer to the middle of his legs. He realized what was happening as soon as a hand, slick with lotion, large, and callused by years of writing, touched his dick.</p><p>The hand pumped. Once, twice, 3 times, and a pressure coiled in his abdomen. At it, he felt feverish and flushed. He hated himself for how much his breath was quickening. </p><p>“You’re doing a good thing, you know,” Tucker leaned forward, the man's mouth close enough to Ed's ear that his breath was sticky against his neck. It made the hairs on the side of his face flutter, tickling him lightly as he shuddered and hunched into himself. “The right thing. You’re being so good for me.”</p><p>The hand rubbed again, slowly, and Ed forced his eyes open, trying to endure it. Tucker picked up the pace, stroked faster until Ed jutted forward and a moan escaped before he could stop it.</p><p>He was too shocked to do anything but glare harder, blood rushing to his cheeks and revulsion turning his stomach as he desperately tried to stop himself from feeling anything after that. He shifted away from the hand, but then Tucker just grabbed him harder, chuckling at his defiance like there was some sort of punchline he was missing. </p><p>God, the man thought his struggle was funny, didn’t he? His laugh gave that away. How it lilted, unbothered, how his expression softened and he had this air of amusement.</p><p>At that revelation, the urge to cry was unbearable.</p><p>The pressure kept building. Tucker adjusted the angle again, and within his next thrust, he hit something new. It was personal, too personal. Ed didn't know exactly what he was doing, but it sent a shiver down his spine that felt like pleasure but tasted like hate. </p><p>Scientifically speaking, the body reacts to stimuli no matter how you feel about it. If someone slapped him across the face, he'd still feel pain, right? How was this any different? </p><p>It still felt suspiciously like giving up, though, when there was another thrust, and he writhed beneath the man like he enjoyed it. </p><p><em> Did </em>he enjoy it? Was there something wrong with him? Why was his body doing this, acting like any of this was a good thing? </p><p>Maybe he should just give in. The thought was becoming alarmingly tempting. He could close his eyes, focus on the good, focus on whatever was going to get him out of there without losing his mind. </p><p>
  <em> No.</em>
</p><p>He was choosing to hate it and he was doing it on his terms. He desperately, painfully, wanted it to stop. Why should he have to justify that to himself?</p><p>The mind and body are separate. He's not the one reacting. It's not him. It's <em> not. </em></p><p><em> It's not me it's not me it's </em> <b> <em>not-</em> </b></p><p>Ed woke up screaming.</p><p>The sound clawed its way through his throat, harsh and painful, even to his own ears. Short, sharp, shallow breaths. Hyperventilation, he realized, but it was a useless observation because he was still gasping and flailing, trying to buck off the invisible enemy that had made its way into his bed. His surroundings felt unnaturally threatening. Even the creases in his sheets seemed wrong, too pronounced.</p><p>Something was off. </p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>The room was dark aside from where rays of white pooled in through his window. Moonlight. It had to have been early.</p><p>He noticed, distantly, how much he was shaking. Every muscle was wound up, ready to move, but he was trembling head to toe and absolutely spent. Everytime he shifted there would be an ache in response, his body storing evidence of what happened in his soreness, how he couldn’t sit without hurting or stand without limping. </p><p>His eyes darted through every point of his room. Scanning the dark, searching for proof that he had left, because maybe he knew he was safe in his room, but he didn’t <em> know </em>that. He’d almost been completely certain it was secure, his heart starting to slow, the adrenaline wearing off, when he saw it.</p><p>There was something in the corner. A figure, almost completely covered by shadows. It stood there, watching, waiting, listening. It’s face was obscured by the darkness that surrounded it, but Ed could still recognize the glint in it’s eye that was accented by scarce moonlight. </p><p>His lip quivered. Tucker was there, in his room, where he was supposed to be safe<em>, </em>staring at him. The bastard was back. He’d make him have sex again, but he was already so tired and he couldn’t do it.</p><p>Ed stumbled out of bed and into a defensive stance because Tucker was standing there and Ed <em> couldn’t do this I can’t have sex again I won’t- </em></p><p>
  <em> Don’t make me do this. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’m trying so hard, but I can’t do this. Somebody, anybody, stop this. Please. </em>
</p><p>He hated begging and he hated being rescued, but he would’ve done anything for an extra layer of protection. Anything at all. He was so lost. Maybe when he’d swallowed his pride he’d lost his ability to help himself, too. Maybe it was the only thing preventing him from becoming as weak, pitiful, and degraded as he felt.</p><p>He was so tired of being terrified and fragile in the face of these stupid, stupid memories. These stupid memories that maybe weren’t that stupid, because they were enough to get him fighting when he should be. Enough to give the control back. Enough to make him remember.</p><p>But God, it was just so painful.</p><p>And pathetic. </p><p>And nobody was coming to save him, no matter how much he hoped they would.</p><p>There was no knight in shining armor to liberate him from the suffering, no refuge anywhere outside of himself. He needed to deal with it on his own. He had to take this hardship by himself, on his shoulders, without aid. His little brother shouldn't have to carry the weight. The thought of asking anyone else- telling anyone else- was humiliating. </p><p>He was the strong one. He was the protector, the big brother, the one who was fearless in the face of danger. He was impulse and he was fire and he was supposed to <em> burn, </em>not burn out.</p><p>And yet, he was still just a boy. Just a human. Just as terrified.</p><p>“Just <em> leave,” </em>he growled. Everything he had left in him was put into it- maybe not a lot, but it was something. He was doing something. “You can’t make me do it again. Go away.”</p><p>There was no response but Ed’s own racing heart and racing thoughts. Tucker stared back at him, unmoving, and yet Ed was already pinned down again. His wrist against the headboard, gripped hard enough to hurt, but not so much as to leave a mark. The breath on his neck. The pain in his ass as he was violated and shaking and on the edge of crying, or maybe something much, much worse.</p><p>“I said get the fuck out!” He bellowed. “I won’t do it again! I can’t- I’m not-”</p><p>He choked back a sob. It was dry, but it racked his whole body and left him shuddering. It hung in the air and he hated himself for letting anybody but his brother, his mother, Winry, or Granny see this part of him. The brittle, shattered pieces of his soul that were jagged enough to cut anybody who touched them, but broken all the same. </p><p>Tucker kept staring. The gaze was heavy on his heart.</p><p>“Just fucking <em> do it </em>if you’re going to,” he snarled.</p><p>He wanted it over with. If it was going to happen anyways, he wasn’t going to stew in anticipation. </p><p>The blood in his ears roared above the silence.</p><p>“SAY SOMETHING YOU BASTARD!”</p><p>He clapped his hands and transmuted his automail blade. Nobody was coming to help him. They never did. He had to save himself. With the flash of light and rush of adrenaline that pounded through his veins came-</p><p>Nothing. </p><p>Nobody was there. </p><p>Well, except his laundry basket, tall, dark blue, and definitely not a person. Al had left it on the chair just a few hours ago. </p><p>Ed laughed. It was funny because he watched him do it. He’d seen his brother carry it over and set it down. Al had even lectured him for throwing his clothes on the floor, saying it was messy, saying he could trip. He knew it was there. </p><p>He still wasn’t convinced. </p><p>He was losing his mind, wasn’t he? Because even after he saw the basket in the light, knew what it was, what it wasn’t, he still had to touch it. Feel the cool plastic and sift through the fabrics. Just to make sure. He still had to turn on the room light. He still had to go into the bathroom, armed with his automail, so he could convince himself there were no visitors. </p><p>He was halfway through setting up alchemic traps on the bedroom door when he realized Al would probably trigger one on accident. </p><p>A part of him was about to do it anyways. Just to make sure. </p><p>Age 11 and he was already one berry short of a fruitcake. </p><p>Weren’t these kind of paranoid delusions reserved for nutjobs and the senile? </p><p>No. He wasn’t crazy. He couldn’t be. He was okay. He had to be okay. </p><p>But it had felt so <em> real </em> and he was so <em> sure.  </em></p><p>He glanced at the laundry basket again. Yep, same fucking object. Nothing was wrong.</p><p>But how did he know Tucker wouldn't-</p><p>
  <em> Shut up.  </em>
</p><p>He just needed to sleep. He was tired, that was all. He wasn’t crazy. It had been a stressful day, he was exhausted, and he’d be okay again in the morning. There was nothing to be scared of. He was fine.</p><p>His hands were shaking. </p><p>He was- He was fine-</p><p>He choked back a sob. </p><p>He was-</p><p>
  <em> “Nobody would believe you, Edward. Even if you told,” Tucker said, reclining further back on the bed and relaxing into the pillows. He had a satisfied air to him, the aura of someone who won something and now got to be all smug about it.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Really, he’d stolen something. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ed sat on the mattress next to him with his knees pulled up, shaking, naked, covered in sweat, and so, so tired. He looked to the floor from where he’d put his head between his legs, and he almost wanted to scream, but he was so spent he just couldn’t bother. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You don’t know that,” he said, keeping his voice low. It was close to a whisper, close to not being spoken at all. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Yes, I do,” Tucker sighed. “I think you’re forgetting who the person with influence is, Edward. I’m a State Alchemist. You’re just a nobody cripple who’s mooching off of me and claiming to be a genius.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Fuck you.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You liked it,” Tucker reached his hand out, stroking the end of Ed’s hair. “Didn’t you?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ed flinched, backing away towards the edge of the bed. “Don’t fucking touch me.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Tucker frowned and withdrew his hand.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He still couldn’t look at the man, even as he scurried off the mattress to stand. When he did, it was with trembling legs that flared in pain. He hissed lightly and took a panicked step back, desperately trying to create some distance and tripping over his pants that laid puddled on the ground in the process. He barely steadied himself in time to not fall.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Be careful-”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Leave me alone,” Ed interrupted, glaring at the floor through the bangs that suck to his forehead, sticky with sweat. He drew a shaky breath and swallowed. He felt so defeated. “Why won’t you just leave me alone?”  </em>
</p><p>He wasn’t fine.</p><p>Admitting it was as liberating as it was debilitating. It crushed his entire world, but something about the destruction it brought to him, to everything, was freeing<em> .  </em></p><p>He wasn’t fine. Not at that moment. By morning he’d need to be again, but for a second, he wanted to scream and cry and have everything stop. Just long enough to catch his breath. </p><p>He missed his mom. </p><p>It was always when it hurt the most that he wanted to see her more than anything. She’d know what to do, she always knew what to do. When he was stupid and got injured while playing, or when Al and him fought, or when he needed a hug. She’d make everything better. She always just- Did that. Ed didn’t know how. She was magic in human form, pure and simple. He didn’t even believe in that kind of thing, but it was the only analogy he could think of and there was nothing more fitting for her.</p><p>She was everything good about the world, everything that made it worth living in, every virtue. And maybe that was childish naivety speaking because she was human, too.</p><p>But he’d watched her fall ill, her wet coughs, her pale face, her breaths slowing until they stopped the first time, and he’d killed her himself the second. There wasn’t anything after that, she was dead. </p><p>It was an old, scarred wound, but it still brought another sob from his lips.</p><p>She couldn’t help him or talk to him, she couldn’t do anything but exist within his memory, and those were only tangible, only realistic, when his brain felt like terrorizing him. So there he was, back at square one. Which meant putting up with this as long as he could, gritting his teeth and calling it a grin, looking at walls for a sense of control when nothing else worked.</p><p>There were very few times where he allowed himself to cry. </p><p>His mother's funeral. When he lost Al to The Gate. The worst bits of his automail surgery. That was it.</p><p>Somehow, some part of his fucked up brain decided then was a good time to break down. To have him crumple to the floor until he was as small and low as he felt.</p><p>Once the tears started they were out of his control, cascading down his face as violent waterfalls, mingling with snot and saliva as he wailed. He wondered if he’d drown in the hurt and anger and fear that threatened to engulf him. </p><p>He screamed and wept until his eyes were bloodshot and his throat was raw. It was ugly and painful, snot, sniffles, sobs, shallow breaths, punching the wall just to <em> feel </em>something.</p><p>Or maybe to punish himself, he wasn't sure. His knuckles split and his only thought as the blood dribbled out was that he probably deserved it. He wasn’t even sure what he meant when he said that, if he was referring to the fact that he was hurt, the sex, his life in general. </p><p>Eventually, he ran out of tears. There was nothing left to cry with. The tired numbness began to seep in, making it hard to move, the occasional hiccup sending shots of exhausted pain through him. His brain was becoming static that played on loop, drowning out his thoughts with white noise and numbness. He fought for consciousness while his eyelids slowly dropped shut.</p><p>Al could come back from whatever he was doing at any second, though. He needed to get back up.</p><p>He repeated that again and again until he was able to stave off the misery long enough to stand once more. It was with shaking legs and damp eyes, but at least he was on his feet. </p><p>He wanted to shed his body like a snake sheds their skin, strip himself of skin, muscles, memories, and bone until he was free of it all. </p><p>He couldn't even feel better by crying like a normal person, like people told him it was okay to, because he was too busy thinking about how weak he must seem. How soft he'd gotten. </p><p>How was he supposed to help anyone, damaged like this? It had taken everything in him to last this long without a nervous breakdown. </p><p>But he was standing. With a bruised back and a new word he never wanted in his vocabulary, but he was still fucking standing. That had to be worth something, right? There had to be a silver lining, some sort of lesson he was supposed to learn. Some kind of point to all of this, why it happened, why he just couldn't move on. </p><p>He’d thought he’d seen everything. He’d thought nothing could be worse than a dead mother, an absent father, and the burnt skin of his own creation, writhing in the basement, barely visible in the dark, and yet he could tell it was anything but human.</p><p>But he'd been wrong. His wax wings had melted for a second time, and he was hurtling towards an inevitable ground. He would hit it eventually with a sickening splat. </p><p>But he was standing. He decided for himself that it was worth something, to do that much. He needed to find his own reasons to keep going. He'd reach the end of his rope if he didn't. There'd be no one to catch him, and that would defeat the purpose of the whole ordeal in the first place. </p><p>Wouldn't that be ironic, if he broke himself further on a quest to get him and his brother back to normal?</p><p>He took a shaky breath and a tentative step towards his bed. He would be okay again in the morning. </p><p>For now though, he would lay down, and he would sleep, cry, whatever he had to do to get it out and over with.</p><p>---</p><p>He woke up for a second time with puffy eyes and tear tracks over flushed cheeks. With anger, regret, and an ache between his legs that made the thought of anything but lying down and having nobody look at him painful. But he stood, and he made good on his promise from the night before. He was okay again. He was strong.</p><p>He took a shower. The hot water soothed the aches and scalded the touch off of him. He put soap on his loofah and scrubbed at his body until it was raw, until he could be sure there wasn’t a trace of what happened left.</p><p>The steam covered the mirror, obscuring his reflection, and he was thankful. He wasn’t sure if he’d recognize himself.</p><p>He got dressed. Black tank top, red turtleneck, grey puffer jacket. Three layers were harder to peel off than just one. He thought about putting his hair up, but he still didn’t have his tie and he wasn’t about to go grab it.  </p><p>Al still hadn’t come back. If Ed had to guess, he probably went to study during the night and got distracted. </p><p>His stomach growled. He made his way towards the door, about to open it, when his hand hesitated over the knob.</p><p>If he left, he’d have to see Tucker again, and maybe he was pathetic for it, but the thought made his gut recoil. </p><p>Was eating breakfast really worth the risk?</p><p>He backed away, and then there was a knock. </p><p>He thought about not answering. He thought about opening his window and running far, far away from there. He thought about locking himself in until they went away.</p><p>But that would be cowardly, and he wasn't a coward.</p><p>“Who is it?” He asked.</p><p>“Me,” Nina said. </p><p>He slowed his breath, allowing the fear to dissipate before opening the door.</p><p>Nina stood on the other side, wearing the sparkly dress that started it all. Ed never knew a piece of children’s clothing could make something primal recoil from inside him until then.</p><p>“Dad says you need to take me to school because he’s working.”</p><p>Oh, right. Her first day of school. </p><p>“Alright, Nina,” he sighed. At least he’d be out of the house. “Have you eaten?” </p><p>She shook her head. </p><p>“How long until it starts?”</p><p>“An hour.”</p><p>The school was a fifteen minute walk. Honestly, anything Ed could use as an excuse to kill time outside of the house was worth it. He fished around the pocket of his puffer jacket for his wallet. He had 2,000 cens left. That was enough to grab breakfast from the bakery on the way. </p><p>“Tell you what Nina, let’s get some donuts to celebrate. That sound fun?” He smiled tiredly.</p><p>“Yeah, sounds great big brother!”</p><p>He paused. He almost didn’t catch it, but when he did, he grinned. It felt right. Tucker may have not been his father, but she could definitely be his little sister.</p><p>“Alright then,” he said. “I’ll race you to the door.”</p><p>That was his only warning before he bolted down the hall. He just wanted to be out of there as soon as possible.</p><p>---</p><p>Frigid air nipped at his skin, reminding him of the coming winter. His hair was frizzy and tangled from running. The stands caught in his mouth as the wind whipped around them. They were damp on his lips, honestly not helping him warm up at all. He scowled. This was why he liked to braid it, it always got in his face. </p><p>Beside him, Nina walked, jelly donut in hand, humming happily to herself. </p><p>He watched the sidewalk. The pavement's texture moved in tandem with his steps, and he noticed the cracks within it pass him by. Pedestrians went about their day around him, all of them heading to work, school, maybe somewhere else. A cafe, or perhaps out of town. It almost made him wistful. He’d love to travel, to see everything the world had. </p><p>But for now, he was there, and he had to be okay with that. </p><p>The early morning traffic and light chatter of people lulled him into relaxing, if only by a bit. He found his hands fiddling with the hem of his jacket, feeling the texture, anchoring his thoughts to something tactile. The longer he debated asking this, the more likely he was to back out. He couldn’t do that. It would be selfish. </p><p>So he ignored his trepidation, looked at Nina, and said something he knew could easily bite him in the ass sooner rather than later. </p><p>“Hey, can you do something for me?”</p><p>She glanced up from her food. There was jelly on her cheek and powdered sugar on her hands. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>Ed took a deep breath. It didn’t help his nerves at all. “I wanna play a game with you, alright?”</p><p>Nina perked up, and Ed took that as a signal to continue. </p><p>“If you think your dad might hurt you or Al, or has hurt you, whichever... I want you to come to me, okay? But you can’t tell him.”</p><p>Nina furrowed her eyebrows. “Why would daddy hurt me?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Ed cast his gaze to the side. He couldn't tell her the truth, but he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if something happened to her. To either of them. His brother could defend himself, sure, but it was better safe than sorry. “If you let me know as soon as something seems off, I’ll give you a prize, though. Anything you want,” he smiled. “Can you do that?”</p><p>Her eyes widened. “Anything?”</p><p>“Anything.”</p><p>She took another bite of her donut before nodding.</p><p>“And Nina?” He asked.</p><p>She glanced up once again. He smiled.</p><p>“Use your napkin, you’ve got jelly on your face.”</p><p>---</p><p>The second time he had sex was two days later. The third was an hour after that. </p><p>He stopped counting after twenty-two. It got too painful to think about. Where before he wanted to take in every detail, control every aspect, be present for every touch, if only to feel a little less degraded, a little more in control, now he wanted to pretend it wasn't happening at all. </p><p>On time number 5, he discovered that there were other places you could have sex. Worse places. And then the next day people would sit on that couch or eat at that table and there was nothing Ed could say. </p><p>They never used his room, though, and for that he was thankful. It was his safe haven, the only part of the house that didn’t have some sort of traumatic event attached. </p><p>Sometimes, Tucker would just take pictures of him. Those days were the hardest. Knowing that somewhere out there there were snapshots of the most miserable moments of his life made him want to throw up. Someone could easily find them and see him lying there naked, trying to cover his face, or turn away from the camera, or pretend he wasn’t there at all. </p><p>But he still didn't say anything. Nobody knew. And the box he used to store the memories was put somewhere deeper as the incidents stacked up. So far back in the recesses of his subconscious that he could almost convince himself it didn’t even exist.</p><p>The one time he struggled he ended up with a black eye. He hadn't meant to, but Tucker was on top of him and he panicked. He kicked and cried and screamed about how much he wanted it to stop, how much he hated it. He bit Tucker in the arm until he could taste copper over the salt, watching with a sick sort of satisfaction as the blood spilled into crimson droplets over his chest.</p><p>Tucker punched him in the face and told him to stay down. Then he rocked into him. Again, and again, and again. No preparation, completely dry, and it was somehow worse, but somehow better. The pain had almost been louder than his own sobbing as he babbled <em>no</em>, <em>stop</em><em>, g' off me- </em>Tucker peaked, the liquid white shot into him, and it mixed with the blood caked on his thighs. It was the one time Ed wasn’t forced to come.</p><p>Afterwards the man dressed his arm and told him to get the hell out before he did something he’d regret. He said that if he tried that again, he was going to-</p><p>Ed couldn’t even think about it without shaking. He couldn’t let that happen. He just <em> couldn’t. </em></p><p>He had been right the first time about not saying no. It was a waste of his effort, and sex was so much worse when he couldn’t at least fake being okay with it.</p><p>But at the same time, if he grew too numb, got too accustomed, he lost the anger. He needed the rage. He needed something to justify the pain. Without it, he was just giving in, bending over, and letting Tucker do his worst. That was horrible, so much more horrible, than the act itself. </p><p>Acceptance meant it was normal. Ed was desperately holding out on the fact that it <em> wasn't normal. </em>He was allowed to be upset, no matter how much Tucker said he cared, that Ed was being dramatic, or that there wasn't an issue. </p><p>He wanted the despair. Without it, he felt empty. He needed something to cling to, something tangible, something to keep him going. </p><p>But he couldn't make his mind stay tethered to reality, despite how much he shook, spat, and fought. He just- Froze. And he did what he was told, and he hated himself for it afterwards. </p><p>Eventually, he let himself go on autopilot. He didn't respond, didn't complain, didn't do much of anything unless he was forced to. He was losing his sanity, and he'd rather be pathetic 30 minutes a day than have another nervous, paranoid breakdown. Maybe keeping everything accessible, grounding himself in the events as they happened was helpful before, but then it was always <em> there. </em>Always lurking, trying to convince him laundry baskets were people out to hurt him, trying to make him go crazy.</p><p>It was better to seperate himself from it. At least he could function normally outside of the room when he did that, or at least something close to it.</p><p>The day after his 12th birthday, he found out what the word 'rape' meant. </p><p>He'd gone all the way to East City to visit Mustang's office so he could get a feel for what it would be like to work there. It had been printed in small, typed letters on a file on his desk. When Ed asked the man what it meant, Mustang didn’t answer.</p><p>Hawkeye explained for him. With a stoic detachment, she repeated some of the worst moments of Ed's life right back at his face. Like that encyclopedic, professional language even began to come close to the horrors he’d endured over the past 2 months. </p><p>It wasn't her fault, he could tell she just didn't know how else to put it into words. Al was horrified, even Mustang seemed a little sick. Ed kind of found it funny because they still had no clue.</p><p>Yeah, funny. </p><p>He swallowed bile. </p><p>
  <em> Fucking hilarious.  </em>
</p><p>And the worst part was that it was comforting to see that report and know he wasn’t the only one. He spent the rest of the afternoon in the library, rereading the definition from a mildewed dictionary the size of his head, checking out books on the topic. He wanted to relate the things he saw and touched and heard to the things others did. It felt like there was nobody else who could understand him anymore, not even Al. </p><p>When it hit him that he was on the edge of another breakdown, stewing in his misery for validation, and using the suffering of others to feel less alone, he slammed the book shut. He went home with a heavy heart and a whole new layer of disgust at himself. </p><p>And even though he knew it was rape, at the end of the day, he couldn't admit it, not fully. He didn't want to be another statistic on a chart, and he didn’t want to be a victim. He was supposed to be better than that.</p><p>It didn't stop, though. No matter how much he humiliated himself it kept happening. </p><p>---</p><p>He was back at the Hughes’s again. Another dinner. Mustang and Hawkeye were visiting, too. </p><p>The dinners were the happiest parts of his life. He could go and pretend everything was okay. For a little while, he got to be normal. </p><p>The Ed two and a half months ago would have never said that, admitted that, but now he was clinging to their home with everything he had. Any excuse to go visit he would take. He felt like an abandoned puppy, desperately searching for comfort. It pissed him off. He shouldn’t have needed it.</p><p>He did, though. He honest to God didn’t think he would’ve made it far without it.</p><p>He’d come in with a limp that night, all because Tucker was a bastard who decided the same day as one of his visits was a good time to ass fuck him twice. Ed was pretty sure it was his passive-aggressive way of trying to make him stay. The man always got all pissy when he went out. He got the feeling that if it weren't for Maes's pushiness when it came to house-parties and the fact Ed was the one who did all the errands, he'd never be allowed to leave the house.</p><p>He had to lie about his ports acting up, which was embarrassing as always, but it was still better than the alternatives. The only downside of being there was that they made him sit on the couch and take it easy when he <em> should’ve </em>been helping out. Apparently, he was ‘sore’ and ‘having time to relax is important’. Which was stupid. He did worse things despite being sore all the time, he could help with dinner.</p><p>In the dining room, Mustang was discreetly trying to teach Elysia and Alphonse how to play poker. Alphonse was scarily good, but Elysia just kept drawing pictures on the cards while nobody was looking. Maes was 100% going to have a problem with it, but he couldn’t see them from where he was cooking with Gracia in the kitchen, nor the living room when he was talking to Ed, and they kept their voices low. Hawkeye kept having to correct Mustang about the rules. He wasn’t actually good enough at poker to be teaching it, but he <em> thought </em>he was. Ed might’ve given him an A for confidence if he wasn’t such a bastard.</p><p>“Yo! Edward,” Maes called from the kitchen. Not Hughes, Maes now. “What do you want for Christmas?”</p><p>Ed blinked once. Twice. </p><p>“What?” He called back.</p><p>Maes stepped out from behind the wall between the living room and kitchen, flour dusting his blue apron that read ‘your opinion wasn’t in the recipe’. He thought it was hilarious. Nobody but Mustang wanted to burst his bubble by disagreeing. </p><p>Ed would never admit it, but he kinda thought it was funny, too.</p><p>Maes raised an eyebrow. “Christmas. What do you want me to get you?”</p><p>“Oh,” He had no clue. “You don’t have to bother with that, Al and I will be on the road soon anyways.”</p><p>A little less than a month until the test, thank fucking God. They wouldn’t have space for extra luggage and Ed didn’t want to keep more of his belongings in Tucker’s house than he had to.</p><p>Was it bad that he always kept a suitcase packed? Just in case he had to take Nina and his brother and run? Because recently, it’s been gnawing at him more and more, how Tucker had punched him and-</p><p>No, he wasn’t going to think about that. If he started, he wasn't going to be able to stop. He was with the Hughes’s. Everything was fine.</p><p>Maes waved his hand. “Edward, you’re giving me nonsense again,” he sighed. “Honestly, we’ve known you brother’s for months now, and you still act all weird when we try to do nice things for you.”</p><p>“Sorry,” he grumbled, averting his gaze and fiddling with the edge of the blanket that had been draped over him.</p><p>“My, my, did Elric just apologize?” Mustang called from the dining room table. “I didn’t know he had it in him.”</p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p>“Hey, a <em> little </em>modesty goes a long way-”</p><p>“WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SHORT THAT HE COULD PASS AS A FLEA?!?”</p><p>“I dunno, Elric,” Ed couldn’t see Mustang, but he guessed he was smirking like the asshole he was. “You tell me.”</p><p>“I hate you.”</p><p>"Sorry, I can't understand you. I don't speak shor-"</p><p>"WHY DON'T YOU COME OVER AND SAY THAT TO MY FACE, HUH?! I'LL FIGHT YOU, I'LL-"</p><p>“I made chocolate chip cookies!” Sometime during the argument, Maes had snuck back into the kitchen and was now armed with a batch of baked goods. He handed one to Ed like it was a prize for not murdering Mustang and a bribe to stop yelling and keep it that way. Actually, knowing Maes, it was definitely all of those things. Damn him for knowing his weaknesses. Ed scarfed it down and reached for another, but his hand got batted away. </p><p>“You’re gonna spoil your dinner.”</p><p>“Whatever,” he slumped in his chair dramatically.</p><p>Maes sighed and walked to hand the cookies out to everyone else. Al discreetly transmuted the poker game under the table by deconstructing the whole thing, cards included, and reconstructing it in under a second. It was incredibly complex and Ed felt a surge of pride because his little brother was so damn good at what he did. </p><p>“Dinner will be ready in a moment,” Gracia called. “Maes, honey, could you set the table?” </p><p>“I’ll do it,” Ed stood up and stretched. He tried not to wince when he came to his feet, but apparently he’d failed that task, because Maes’s eyebrows furrowed. </p><p>“Ed, sit down,” Maes huffed. </p><p>He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”</p><p>“You shouldn’t strain your ports. I can do it.”</p><p>“What? It’s only fair. You and Gracia cooked and shit, so I can set the table. Equivalent exchange.”</p><p>He wasn’t building any more debts. He liked Maes, he really did, and he knew he wasn’t like Tucker, but he still didn’t trust it. It took every ounce of faith Ed had in him just to call him by his first name. Even that felt like he was getting too attached. A primal, fucked up part of his brain was still convinced that at the first chance he got, Maes would take advantage of his vulnerability. </p><p>Maes shook his head. “You crazy alchemists and your equivalent exchange,” he chuckled. “The world doesn’t work like that. You don’t have to pay people back for every nice thing they do.”</p><p>“Yeah, but you kinda <em> do.</em>”</p><p>“Ed, you don’t owe people something just because they’re nice to you or do you a favor. Now sit down and let me do it.”</p><p>“No, it’s fine.”</p><p>“Ed, this is getting ridiculous,” Maes sighed. “You’re a guest here, sure, but you’re also part of the family now. And sometimes family just wants to do nice things for each other, like letting you relax while I set the table, or buying Christmas gifts- And you <em> still </em>haven’t told me what you want. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”</p><p>
  <em> Oh. </em>
</p><p>That's how Maes felt about him, like he was part of the family.</p><p>Ed swallowed.</p><p>That brought a lot of feelings he didn’t even know he had out to the front, a lot of memories he wanted to keep suppressed. He felt kinda fuzzy again, which happened a lot lately, like his thoughts and feelings and body weren't quite there. Weren't quite his own-</p><p>
  <em> - Tucker kissed his collarbone. “Agree to have sex with me, and I promise I’ll never kick you out.” - </em>
</p><p>- And for a second, a split second, he was back there again. Back at the start. Or maybe the beginning went further back, to the spankings, or the night before that, or maybe he was just cursed the second he was born. </p><p>This wasn’t fair, though. He was trying so hard not to break, to distance himself from it, and there Maes was, saying he didn’t even need to do it in the first place. That he didn’t owe anyone anything, that he didn’t owe <em> Tucker </em> anything, that he could’ve said no, run, or found another way, and he wouldn’t be a piece of shit who was actively dooming his brother. He didn’t get to just <em> do that. </em> He didn't get to act like Ed was doing this because he wanted to. He had to. <em> He had to </em></p><p>Maes didn't know what he was talking about.</p><p>“Shut up,” he snarled.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” He was shaking. His lip quivered, just a little bit, and he felt so <em> angry</em>. It wasn’t completely Maes’s fault, but that didn't prevent the rage from boiling over. “You don’t get to just <em> say that. </em>”</p><p>His eyes were burning. Maes had no right. What the fuck did he know about debt? </p><p>“Ed, are you.. Crying?” Maes’s eyebrows furrowed. He looked faintly disturbed. </p><p>Was he?</p><p>Something rolled down his cheek, damp and pitiful.</p><p>Oh fuck.</p><p>“Shut up.” He wiped his eyes and the tears left an imprint on his sleeve. As soon as he saw it, his eyebrows knit into a glare. </p><p>“Ed, are you okay?”</p><p>He bit his lip. He was being irrational. He knew that. He <em> knew </em> that, but it didn’t stop the thoughts from coming, because a part of him was still convinced that people were going to hurt him the second he gave them a chance. </p><p>But he desperately wanted to trust Maes to be different. Maybe that made him an idiot. He honestly didn’t think he could survive another Tucker in his life, if things were to go wrong.</p><p>It was pathetic, but he wanted somebody to care about him. To make him rest when he was sore, to buy him gifts, to feed him and house him without expecting payment in return. Nobody had done that since his mother. </p><p>And maybe Maes was a little bit of magic in human form too, because Ed really did wonder if he could let his guard down around him one day. If only by a bit. If only for small moments, because he honestly didn’t think he’d ever be able to trust another person fully again.</p><p>Human’s really do never learn their lesson, huh? </p><p>“Yeah, I just-” He chuckled, the noise raw and pained. He hated how small he sounded. “You guys are way too nice to me.”</p><p>“Ed, what are you talking about?” Maes stared at him, eyebrows knit in concern, and when Ed looked him in the eyes, he realized how bright they were. Green and vibrant like a forest, like a place where life lives and thrives and <em> survives</em>. </p><p>“Nothing, I just-” He took in a shaky breath. “Thanks, Maes. I needed that.”</p><p>Maes was looking at him funny. Ed glanced away again. He hated when people stared at him like that, like they were worried or something.</p><p>There was silence. Maes worked in investigations, too smart for his own damn good, and Ed knew in that moment he was being analyzed.</p><p>“Are you sure you’re okay?”</p><p>He took a deep breath and hoped, really, really hoped, that he wouldn’t regret asking this. </p><p>“I wanna be over here.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“That’s what I want for Christmas,” Ed swallowed around a lump in his throat. “I wanna spend it here. Al too, if he wants.”</p><p>“Okay,” Maes nodded. There was still that concern in his voice, but his shoulders unfurled a little. “Okay, I can make that happen.”</p><p>Ed smiled. It was fleeting, but it was there.</p><p>The rest of the dinner was uneventful, and that night, he slept better than he had for a while.</p><p>---</p><p>The day they had arrived at the mansion, Tucker had gotten Al a gift and told him it was their first night as part of the family. Back then, Ed thought it meant something good. That he was part of something bigger, something meaningful, or at least something that had the potential to be. </p><p>But they weren’t blood. They were split between two lines, separated by trauma, never able to truly connect. All thanks to one man who invoked more fear and pain into Ed’s heart than he’d known he could even feel<em>. </em>Him, Al, and Nina might've been siblings, but they were anything but a family. </p><p>They were playing house. All he could do was hope that nobody looked far enough into it to see the illusion, the bruises, the pain, the sex. If they did, everything would fall apart at the seams and the last bits of his resolve were sure to follow after.</p><p>2 months, 3 weeks, and a day into their game, Alphonse came home an hour early.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yes I know Christmas doesn't exist in the world of FMA, but I'm just gonna ask y'all to roll with me on this one lmao.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Trigger warning for some suicidal ideation, intrusive thoughts, and graphic depictions of rape.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Al had suspected there was something wrong for a while now.</p><p>Ed would get all spacey sometimes, like he was underwater and Al's words just couldn't reach him. He would be restless, always checking doors to make sure they were locked, peeking around corners, shifting his gaze like someone was watching him. His nightmares had gotten worse, he’d hole up in his room, and he'd spend hours upon hours away when he was running errands.</p><p>Al had asked him what was going on. He got waved off, like he always did. It was starting to get concerning and he wished Ed would tell him what was wrong, but he figured he'd find out when his brother was ready. </p><p>But he didn’t think the cause was something like this.</p><p>There were noises in the living room. He opened the front door wider, more confused than anything. His body clanked as he entered. He made his way down the hallway, grocery bag in hand. He’d left to go to the library, but it was closed for a holiday, so he'd bought food instead. Shou was supposed to be making meatloaf. Nina had wanted it. Ed didn’t like it, but he seemed to care less and less about small things like that lately. Alphonse couldn’t eat it, but Shou had been so nice, letting them stay here, so he figured he could grab the ingredients. </p><p>But then he saw them.</p><p> He dropped the groceries the moment he did. The milk carton broke and spilled over the floor, the produce bruised as it hit the ground, the meat made a disgusting slapping noise-</p><p>And then he realized that probably wasn't the meat. If he'd had a stomach, he probably would've thrown up.</p><p>Because there, on the living room couch, was his brother. Pinned and naked. Covered in bruises that Al hadn't even noticed because he always wore so many layers. </p><p>"Wh-What-?"</p><p>He barely realized he was talking.</p><p>Tucker glanced up like a deer caught in the headlights. Ed didn't even acknowledge he was there, he just kept staring at the wall, like there was something on it that Alphonse couldn't see. </p><p>“Alphonse,” Tucker started, his eyes wide as he cleared his throat before speaking, “You’re home early.”</p><p>Yeah. No shit.</p><p>“What. The hell.” </p><p>And Alphonse could’ve seen red, his blood could’ve boiled, he could’ve given a lot of analogies about how absolutely livid he was in that moment, if his body wasn’t acting before his brain had the chance to play catch up. He hadn’t even realized he’d picked Tucker up and punched him in the face until he hit the floor with a deafening crash.</p><p>Ed still hadn’t seemed to notice. He just stared past him, wide-eyed, blinking slowly, like he was still trying to get a grasp on what was happening. </p><p>And then, in less than a second, he came back down to earth. </p><p>“Al?” His voice was hoarse, and Al could’ve cried, because he seemed to be in so much <em>pain</em>. “Why are you-”</p><p>“Brother,” He interrupted, because Ed was naked, and he may have learned what the word ‘rape’ meant in Mustang’s office only a few weeks ago, but their stepfather had been on top of him, and he was <em>naked</em>. “What’s going on?” </p><p>With that question, Al ignored all of those points. All of his feelings, the fact that he already knew, that the signs were right there, and how everything seemed to come together in an instant. He asked because Ed was his brother, and he deserved to answer for himself. </p><p>Ed swallowed. “I-I don’t know what you mean.”</p><p>It was a lie, Al knew it, but he was fine with it. He honestly didn’t think he’d be in better shape right now if it were him.</p><p>“Ed,” Al never used his real name. All he could do was hope that the tone showed just how concerned he was, how much he cared, because he couldn’t display it on his face, and he couldn’t give him the support of another flesh and blood person. He reached his gauntlet out, offering it in case he needed help standing. Ed probably wouldn’t take it, but at least he’d have the option. “It’s okay, I’m here.”</p><p>“I-” Ed’s eyes were watering. It was wrong, so, so wrong, because his brother never cried, and that meant something had to have shaken him to his core. “I- He-” Ed averted his eyesight, before it landed on Tucker, face down and out cold. </p><p>“Holy shit-” His eyes widened. He scooted back, further onto the couch, away from Tucker’s form. “What the fuck, Al!”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Why did you-” Ed cut himself off, squeezing his eyes closed and breathing out shakily. “Why did you do that?” </p><p>Alphonse found himself a little confused. “He was hurting you.”</p><p>“Yeah, but you can’t just-” Ed’s breathing got more rapid. “We’re so dead,” He went about 3 shades paler in half a second. “Al, we’re so fucking dead.”</p><p>“He’s still breathing, brother,” Al deadpanned. Tucker would be fine, and even if he wouldn’t, Al honest to god couldn’t care less. “Now come on, we gotta go-” </p><p>“Wait.”</p><p>“No, get your clothes, we need to get out of here before-”</p><p>“Al, wait.” </p><p>Ed still wouldn’t look at him, but there was something wild in his eyes. </p><p>“We can’t leave,” He was shaking. “We can’t, he’ll tell, we need to-” Ed stood with a wince. Every motion was dazed and rapid, sharp flinches from pain, quick footsteps. His eyes darted about the room, and he was moving, pacing around before Al could even stop him or ask for an explanation. </p><p>“Brother, what are you doing?”</p><p>“Goddammit Al,” He hissed, running his hands through his hair, crossing up and down the room in the zig zag he only did when he was panicked. “You can’t just do shit like that! Why the hell did you do that?!”</p><p>“You’re mad at me?”</p><p>“Yeah, a little bit,” Ed huffed. </p><p>“He was <em>assaulting</em> you, what did you want me to do?!”</p><p>“Keep your nose out of it, that’s what,” Ed spat. His words were bitter and forlorn, jagged like a knife, and they cut at Al’s soul.</p><p>With that, it hit him that Ed hadn’t wanted him to know. He hadn’t trusted him with it. Had the library been open, he would’ve been reading while his brother was being- harmed, and he never would’ve realized the truth. That hurt.</p><p> “Al,” Ed started, panic in every movement of his body, every word he spoke. “Al he’s gonna wake up, and he’s gonna tell the brass about the transmutation, and you’re gonna get sent to the lab, and I’ll end up in prison, and neither of us will get our bodies back-” </p><p>He was hyperventilating, his pupils constricted, eyes wide and crazed. With every word, his pacing got more feverish.</p><p>“FUCK!” </p><p>Al tried to reach out and grab his hand, but Ed had punched the wall before he could stop it. Little specks of blood stained the previously yellow paint. Ed looked like he couldn’t care less. His shoulders unfurled, just a little bit, and he hissed as he brought his flesh hand to his chest. </p><p>“Al,” He repeated again, his gaze down as he cradled his hand, and his voice barely a whisper. “Al, you have to get out of here.”</p><p>Did Ed really think he would do that? That he would just leave his brother here? Was that his fault, for not noticing the signs earlier, for not pushing more, for being complacent? </p><p>“No,” Alphonse leveled his posture. “I’m not leaving.”</p><p>“Al, I’m not fucking playing around!” He yelled. “GO!”</p><p>And with that, Tucker began to twitch. Ed’s breathing picked up again. </p><p>“I can tie him up-” Al started. “We can get out of here together. Get help.”</p><p>Ed shook his head. “He’d tell them that we attacked him for no reason or something, nobody would believe us."</p><p>Tucker groaned, and Ed-</p><p>Flinched. Hard. His eyes squeezed shut and he drew in his shoulders with a shaky breath, bracing for a blow that never came. </p><p>He flinched, and Alphonse had never seen him do something like that. Not even with Teacher. </p><p>Tucker’s eyes were opening. </p><p>“Hey,” Ed spoke. His tone was soft but decisive, almost scary in how detached it seemed. “If you don’t leave, I’m gonna have to do something impulsive, and you’re not gonna like it anymore than I will.”</p><p>“Brother,” He couldn’t believe this. Any of this. It was all so crazy, like some kind of horrible dream, but he couldn’t dream, and that meant it had to be real. “Are you threatening me?”</p><p>Ed still wouldn’t look at him. He braced his hands, about to clap, and Al’s stomach sank, because he had no idea what his brother was thinking, and that was scary-</p><p>And then Tucker sat up. </p><p>And Ed’s hands fell as his body tensed. </p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Ed braced his palms, ready to clap, already knowing what he was going to do, already hating himself for it-</p><p>But he couldn’t get his hands to go any further.</p><p>Dammit. </p><p>He just couldn’t do it. Maybe it was selfish, maybe it was a horrible decision, but he just couldn’t do that to Al. </p><p>Why did he have to come home? Why couldn’t he have left it be, let Ed handle it? He had it under control. It was all going how it normally did. People left, Tucker found him, or called for him, or came to his room, and they had sex. It was routine.</p><p>And then Alphonse showed up. </p><p>And he fucking<em> punched Tucker in the face. </em></p><p>Ed wanted to laugh. It was so satisfying, watching him crumple like a puppet with his strings cut and witnessing him losing the power. But then the panic had set in, because they were absolutely fucked. </p><p>Tucker sat up, and Ed kind of wanted to die right then, because there was no way both him and Al were getting out of this unscathed.</p><p>“Tucker,” Ed's throat was tight and strangled the word until it was a rasp, barely heard above his own hammering heart. “You’re awake.”</p><p>Tucker held his head. He was still dazed, still processing, so maybe if Ed ran now-</p><p>No. He couldn’t do that. They could still fix this. Whatever punishment he’d get was probably- definitely going to hurt, but there were too many risks if they left. Ed had to stay and make this right, get back into the routine. He had to placate and give him what he wanted until he left them alone, that was the only way to get out of this.</p><p>He hoped the man didn’t have a concussion, because then he would be <em>really</em> pissed</p><p>“Al, go upstairs," he said, really, really hoping his brother would stop being an idiot and start working with him.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Fucking hell, of course he wouldn't leave. Nothing in Ed’s life could ever be easy, could it?</p><p>“Then don’t fucking talk, okay?”</p><p>And maybe his words were too harsh, or his glare was too intense, because Al's shoulders slumped and his feet shifted awkwardly, signifying that he was upset.</p><p>"Edward," Tucker held his head in his palm, and the word was a little slurred. Ed assumed from the pain. The scariest part of it all was the unreadable expression he wore. Ed couldn't quite gauge how upset he was, and that was making the nagging terror bloom into a barely controlled hysteria. "Care to explain why I’m on the floor?”</p><p>“You passed out. Hit your head on the way down, too.”</p><p>He was really holding out on that Tucker wouldn’t put two and two together. Which would’ve been made easier if Al had left like Ed asked him to. </p><p>His eyes shifted. They widened slightly as they landed on Al, and Ed’s heart rate took that small motion and went absolutely batshit. </p><p>“Try again," Tucker said.</p><p>Shit. </p><p>“L-Look,” Ed wished his voice would've stayed steady, that his legs would quit shaking, because it was making it even harder to think straight. “Al panicked. He didn’t mean it. We talked it over, smoothed things out- If you wanna be pissed at someone, be pissed at me.”</p><p>Tucker looked unimpressed. </p><p>“He's sorry,” Ed continued. “The whole thing just caught him off guard. Right, Al?”</p><p>And he hoped, really hoped, by brotherly intuition, or just being able to read the goddamn mood, that Al would apologize and they could gloss this over.</p><p>Joke was on him. He should’ve known better than to think any part of this might go smoothly. </p><p>“I’m not sorry,” Al was shaking, but his voice was even and deadly as it cut through the air with an angry surgical precision. “I want to know why you were hurting my brother.”</p><p>Tucker blinked once, twice, like he was trying to jog his memory. “I wasn’t hurting him, we were just having sex,” he recalled. </p><p>Ed flinched. It was true, but a part of him still wanted to keep the Ed that had sex with Tucker and the actual Edward Elric separated. Tucker talking about it so casually was breaking the last bit of normalcy he could make for himself. </p><p>“You expect me to believe that?” Al scoffed. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Tucker.”</p><p>“Al,” Ed scuffed his foot against the carpet and kept his gaze askew. “Stay out of it.”</p><p>“This isn’t the kind of thing I can just ignore!”</p><p>“I’m not asking you to ignore it, I’m telling you to stay out of it!"</p><p>Al was shaking harder, clenching his gauntlets. “Why didn’t you say anything?!” </p><p>“It doesn’t matter,” Ed crossed his arms and huddled into himself like it was a barrier that could protect him from the world. He still didn’t have his clothes, and the cold was starting to bother him. “Drop it.”</p><p>“I’d listen to him, if I were you,” Tucker said. Ed hated that the man was agreeing with him. He shouldn’t have gotten to do that after everything. The man’s eyebrows were furrowed, and that meant he was thinking something. Up to something.“He obviously doesn’t want you here.”</p><p>“You sick fuck,” Al spat. “You don’t get to talk about what he does and doesn’t want!”</p><p>Ed stood a little taller, scraping together enough anger to square his jaw and play the intimidating older brother he needed to be. "Al, shut up,” he hissed. “I have it under control.”</p><p>Al stared at him incredulously. “You call <em>this</em> under control?”</p><p>“Yeah,” He gritted his teeth. “I do.”</p><p>“You’re lying to yourself, brother.”</p><p>And if that wasn’t a verbal punch to the gut, he didn’t know what was. All of the air left his lungs as they seemed to fill with rage and hurt. His mouth opened and there was an itinerary of livid phrases on the tip of his tongue, screams, all of the things that he'd kept in for the past two months, but it was so overwhelming that he quickly snapped it shut and scowled instead.</p><p>Al didn’t get to say that. It was a shit situation, and Ed was trying his best. He was doing everything he could, desperately trying to keep Al and Nina safe, desperately trying not to shatter under the pressure. He never asked for any of this.</p><p>Why couldn’t Al see that? Why couldn’t he <em>stop talking</em>?</p><p>“Shut up!” He yelled, his eyes burning and his voice cracking. He jutted a finger towards the doorway. “Go upstairs!”</p><p>“Where are your clothes?” Al asked.</p><p>That was a change in topics, a deflection. Ed furrowed his eyebrows. “Why?”</p><p>“Because we’re leaving. Right now.”</p><p>“I don’t think you are,” Tucker said. “You’re both staying right here.”</p><p>“Or what?” Al snapped. </p><p>“Or I’ll call my commanding officer and tell him to arrest you both for human transmutation,” Tucker smiled. It was cold and cruel and sadistic, but what else was fucking new.</p><p>Al stared at him, quiet for a few seconds as the words seemed to absorb for him. "<em>W</em><em>hy</em> would you do something like this?" Al said softly. "What could we have possibly- I trusted you- I don't understand."</p><p>Tucker shook his head lightly and smiled, not giving an answer. </p><p>Ed ground his teeth and let the rage pass him, roll off his back, blocked by the fuzziness in his ears that was starting to become deafening. The man could mock him, beat him, fuck him all day long, he didn't care anymore, but he’d hurt Al. He damaged and betrayed his baby brother in such a deep, personal way that he probably didn’t even understand how far it went, and the bastard still had the arrogance to smile.</p><p>Al was being torn to pieces by this. It hurt to witness his confusion, his anger at how unfair it was. It reminded Ed of how he felt the first time it happened.</p><p>With that realization, Ed finally worked up enough courage to turn and face his brother. His movements were uncharacteristically soft as he placed an arm gently on his forearm and repeated what helped him get through it up until then. “It’s fine, I’m okay.”</p><p>“You’re not,” Al’s shoulders were racking with dry, tearless sobs. “You keep saying that, but I know you, Ed, and I- I don’t believe it!"</p><p>“Al," Ed smiled tensely. It was meant to be reassuring, but the intention was hard to fully convey with how many things were warring for his focus. Ed still couldn’t fully look him in the eye for more than a second, but he could at least make him not have to witness what was inevitably coming his way. “Wait upstairs. I’ll be up in a bit, okay?”</p><p>“I’m not leaving you,” Al shook his head. “I’m not. I’m not letting him hurt you.”</p><p>Ed smiled harder. He smiled like he could put all of his reassurances, his condolences, his regret, into that one movement, like the action itself was a promise to stand tall, an oath that he’d be okay. He smiled because there were no words, nothing he could say, to make this easier. </p><p>“Brother,” Al’s voice cracked. “Where are your clothes? We can leave.”</p><p>No, they couldn’t. They were miles at sea with no sight of land and the ship was sinking. Ed had realized this a while ago, but it hurt more to see his brother go through the same awakening. The same loss of innocence. The same bone deep, irreversible, excruciating distrust that the world could instill on you.</p><p>“Upstairs,” He smirked. “So listen to me for once, and wait there.”</p><p>“You’re so snarky,” Al laughed. It was hollow. “Do you know that?”</p><p>Ed was about to respond before Tucker cut him off. “Run along now, Alphonse,” he waved his hand. “I’m running out of patience, so unless you want to be shipped off to the lab within the next hour, take Edward’s advice.”</p><p>Al still wouldn’t move.</p><p>“Al, really,” And Ed could taste the defeat in his voice, hear how tired he sounded. He just wanted his brother safe, away from there. “There’s nothing you can do. If you wanna help, go run a bath.”</p><p>“You don’t have to do this. You- You-” His words cut off with another dry sob. His armor rattled with shakes and he kept his gaze to the side. “Why are you doing this?”</p><p>“It doesn’t matter.”</p><p>“Why didn’t you tell me?”</p><p>“Nothing would’ve changed. You would’ve just been hurting, too.”</p><p>“I could’ve helped.”</p><p>“Maybe,” Ed frowned. “But it still wouldn’t have been worth it.”</p><p>Worth exposing him to this. Having this illusion, this life his brother had managed to build for himself shatter into a million pieces. He deserved to be happy. Al shouldn’t have had to carry this burden, that was Ed’s job, and he was- will- is handling it. And he’d keep doing it, too, because they had a goal, and he was going to do everything in his power to make sure they reached it. </p><p>“You’re hurting him, you know,” Al kept his face turned from Tucker like he couldn’t even bear to look at the man. His fist was clenched and shaking. Ed really, really hoped he wasn’t about to punch him again, because there’d be no recovering after that. “He’s been so depressed lately. Do you even care? Did you ever even care?”</p><p>“Al-” Ed started, but he was met with Al's hand, held up towards his face. It was both a request for silence and a demand to let Tucker speak for himself.</p><p>“Get out, Alphonse,” Tucker’s gaze was cold. “I’m a very patient man, but you’re only going to make this harder for him. Is that what you want?”</p><p>The answer was obvious. Maybe Ed always knew, somewhere deep down, but it still hurt. Some part of him still wanted Tucker to be telling the truth, when he said that he cared, that this was all for the best. The compliments and the praise almost worked sometimes. They were bandaids over stab wounds, but it was still nice to hear something kind when he got desperate enough to accept any kind of reassurance.</p><p>How fucked up did he have to be, to take every single nice thing the man said and still hold it somewhere inside of him, even after everything he’d done? To want it to be true? To still want to see the best in him, in the situation?</p><p>He hated him, he really did. </p><p>But it still hurt.</p><p>“If you hurt him,” Al’s voice shook. “If you hurt him, I’ll kill you.”</p><p>“I’m sure you will, Alphonse,” Tucker chuckled. “Now, unless you’d rather watch...-”</p><p>Al stood there, not moving, before his shoulders deflated, and he gave Ed one last glance. </p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>His voice was hoarse, and Ed really could’ve cried, because he just sounded like he was in so much <em>pain</em>.</p><p>"Yeah," Ed willed himself to dry his damp eyes before tears could come. “Me too.”</p><p>---</p><p>Alphonse listened. He went upstairs.</p><p>And he hated himself for it. There was nothing he could do, no way he could help. His entire world had just come crumbling down in 5 minutes of panic and anger and betrayal, and they were trapped.</p><p>When they’d first arrived, almost three months ago, he’d asked his brother a question in a statement. He’d asked what this place should mean to them both. And when he was just getting the answer, it was ripped away. He’d been so sure, so fooled, that this house could be a home one day. That it could be anything but this horrible, toxic wasteland that had swallowed them both whole and poisoned his brother before he even caught on. </p><p>If Alphonse hadn’t had his soul torn out of his body before, he might’ve considered this to be what it felt like. Seeing Ed, desperately trying to get him to leave, feral and absolutely terrified, threatening him, trying to smile like he wasn’t hurting, made Al’s heart shatter.</p><p>And Tucker seemed so unphased. Like he honestly, honestly couldn’t care less about what he was doing. </p><p>Al clenched his fist and took a seat on the stairs. This was torture, plain and simple, and every second that he spent there, waiting, hoping he’d be okay, had him more and more upset. More and more livid. More and more terrified.</p><p>He could ask for help. Run out of the house, call the police, get more support- </p><p>And get sent to a lab. He couldn’t help his brother from a lab. He was scared to leave, too. If something were to happen, he wouldn’t know. The thought of coming back to the house and finding his brother dead on the couch, or severely injured, or somehow more depressed and traumatized than he had been before was terrifying.</p><p>He could wait it out. Wait for them to finish, for his brother to come limping up the stairs, with that horrible, numb, expressionless look on his face. Or maybe it’d be worse. Maybe he’d smile again, smile like he wasn’t rotting from the inside out.</p><p>He could go downstairs, and he could watch, just to make sure Tucker didn’t-</p><p>He couldn’t. Maybe it made him selfish, or horrible, but he couldn’t watch his brother go through that. He just couldn’t.</p><p>He could beat up Tucker. He could strangle him, watch the life drain from his eyes, know that he had it coming, know that he didn’t have any power anymore-</p><p>Oh. <em>Oh</em>. That was scary.</p><p>He looked down at his hands. They were shaking.</p><p>He’d never wanted to kill someone before. He’d never even imagined he’d be capable of it. He never understood the horrible, horrible people who could just take a life like that. </p><p>But he did right then, and that was terrifying, because he knew that if he was given the chance, he probably could. He would. And he didn’t think he’d regret it.</p><p>He wanted to know how someone could do something like this to someone like his brother. Someone who gave everything they could to other people until there was nothing left behind. He had so little for himself already, and Tucker took it like it was free, like he couldn’t be bothered to even ask.</p><p>He was a horrible little brother, wasn’t he? Leaving him out there alone, letting him be broken apart piece by piece, day by day-</p><p>No, he couldn’t think like that. This wasn’t about him, this was about Ed. Whatever Ed needed to make this easier, better, any less painful, he’d do in a heartbeat. </p><p>So, he ran a bath. It was warm and smelled like the rose oil he pulled from the bathroom cabinet. It had generous amounts of soap, lots of bubbles, and maybe Ed wasn’t a little kid anymore, but Al knew he still liked stuff like that, even if he’d never say it.</p><p>He ran a bath, like he was told to, because Alphonse always just seemed to do what others told him to do. He was agreeable, amiable, compliant, and friendly, and people walked all over him more often than not. Normally he didn’t mind. Normally he was proud of his patience.</p><p>Right now, however, was not one of those times.</p><p>---</p><p>“He’s gone, now,” Ed could recognize the pain in his own voice. It was like a dulled knife, once sharp, but used one too many times. Whittled down and sawed off until it could no longer cut like it once could. “He’s gone, so do your worst.”</p><p>“Edward,” Ed chewed on his bottom lip. Here came the foreplay, the talking, the part where Tucker either threatens him or dotes on him or talks about how good he was about to be fucked. “You do remember what I told you the day you fought back, right?”</p><p>Threatening it is. </p><p>“Like I could forget,” Ed scoffed. “You’re such an insufferable asshole.”</p><p>“And you’re a little whore.”</p><p>“Fuck you.”</p><p>He didn’t have the patience for this. He just wanted to get it over with so he could lay down and sleep it off. </p><p>But considering the fact that Al knew his secret, he got the feeling this was going to be nothing but a long, long day. Probably a long week too, a long life. He wondered how the hell he kept moving sometimes, with how miserable he felt. </p><p>“He really did a number on my head,” Tucker mumbled. “Go get me an ice pack and some aspirin.”</p><p>Ed was tempted to say no. To tell the man he wasn’t his slave, that he didn’t just get to sit there and tell him what to do all the time, but that would be a lie. That was exactly what he was, day after day.</p><p>
  <em>"Get on your knees, go faster, moan for me, do this, do that, blah, blah, blah, blah-"</em>
</p><p>It really pissed him off sometimes, the demands and the entitlement. The way he would touch him whenever he wanted, put his hand on his thigh, probe at him with a slicked finger and slowly press it in and <em>fuck it hurts please stop. I don't want to, no-</em></p><p>What was he doing again?</p><p>Oh, right, the kitchen. He walked there in a daze and sorted through the freezer.</p><p>At some point he grabbed the ice pack and headed to the bathroom for the pain meds.</p><p>He ignored his reflection, the bags under his eyes, the bruises on his body, the fact that he was still naked, and he opened the cabinet. He sifted through it until he stumbled upon the aspirin tin, in the same spot he had glanced at several times during his search, but hadn't quite been grounded enough to analyze properly.</p><p>The tin was metal with big, bolded letters. Acetylsalicylic acid, 2-Acetoxybenzoic acid, ASA, it had a few different names. Chemical formula of HC9H7O4. Hydrogen, carbon, and oxygen. One time, when he was little, he found a container of it in the bathroom, and ate the 9 pills that were left.</p><p>It was an accident. He was 3, innately curious, and wanted to see what would happen. His parents rushed him to the Rockbell’s. It wouldn’t have killed him, but he nearly suffered permanent liver damage. </p><p>There were plenty left in this one, though.</p><p>He stared at them. </p><p>He barely registered that he had taken them out and started counting until they were in his hand.</p><p>30 pills, excluding the one he’d have to give to Tucker.</p><p>9,750 milligrams. </p><p>Enough to kill him this time, probably.</p><p>He dropped them the second he realized that. They scattered across the floor, going every which way, little white dots that now adorned the tile and plush shower rug. Little white dots of poison that he really could’ve used to-</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>He’d <em>held them in his hand</em>. He’d studied them, thought about how easy it would be, how much he could control. All of it could’ve been over so fast.</p><p>Tucker would have to feel bad if he died because of him, wouldn't he? Not that Ed would give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much he'd fucked his head. No, Ed would outlive him, and he'd do it out of spite.</p><p>But he did wonder sometimes if he’d be dead if it weren’t for his little brother. Either from the transmutation, or the depression that came after it, or this. Al was the compass in his life, leading him away from death every time he came close. </p><p>The worst part was that dying almost seemed preferable, sometimes. If only in passing moments like these, but even a second of thinking about it, debating it, was too much. Al needed him alive more than Ed needed an out.</p><p>His legs were shaking. He bent over and picked the aspirin up, one at a time, trying his best not to think too hard about it. He placed them back in the tin, all but one. He thought about getting another for himself. Whatever beating he was about to receive was probably going to hurt.</p><p>But a primal, scared, fucked up part of his brain didn’t trust himself to leave it at just one. So with unsteady hands and a tight throat, he placed the tin in the cabinet and fumbled to slam the door shut.</p><p>He grabbed the ice pack off of the sink counter and got the hell out of there before he could think about it for too long. And then he was back in the living room. </p><p>“You sure took your time.” Tucker was laying on the coach now, his arm resting over his eyes.</p><p>Ed didn’t take the bait. </p><p>“I got what you wanted.”</p><p>Tucker sighed. “Bring it here.”</p><p>Ed stepped forward and made himself as outwardly unaffected as he could. Aside from his wide eyes and pale skin, constant fidgeting, and his anxiety making his face numb, he was doing alright at it.</p><p>Tucker took the pill and popped it dry. He rested the ice pack on the spot of his jaw where Alphonse had punched him. It was looking a little swollen. Not broken, but definitely bruised. </p><p>“Edward,” He began. “I want you to talk with your brother, and I want you to make sure this kind of thing never happens again. You’re the eldest, his behavior is your responsibility.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>Ed barely registered the fact that he was waiting, as if programmed, silent and marking time until Tucker decided what he’d do with him. </p><p>Tucker motioned for him to sit, so he did. The plush coach was anything but comfortable. </p><p>“It’s not completely your fault he attacked me, Edward,” Tucker stroked his hair delicately, the force of a gentle breeze behind his movements. If Ed didn't know any better, he might've felt at ease. “But I still have to teach him a lesson, alright? And the best way to do that is through you.”</p><p>Ed might’ve punched him himself if he could process whatever the hell he was saying over the fog in his brain. He was running on autopilot. Part of the fun of that was that he couldn’t give a single flying fuck about a thing the man said, not with dulled senses and the power of apathy on his side. </p><p>He faintly registered a dick in his mouth. Typical. He sucked it until there was jizz on his face and he thought he could taste the salt on his tongue. Whatever, same shit as usual. </p><p>And then he was back on the couch. He wondered what was going to happen until Tucker braced over him, and he realized the fact that he was 100% not lubed, and Ed was definitely still not stretched. </p><p>Well shit.</p><p>They had sex, that was pretty painful, but while it happened, he was pretty much in lala land anyways.</p><p>He thought about what he was going to eat tomorrow, the play he’d gone to see with Maes last week, how he was going to explain the fact that he’d been having sex with their step-father for 3 months straight to his little brother, how he was going to convince him not to tell-</p><p>Y’know, the little things in life. </p><p>He'd rather not be doing this. The observation was strangely muted, like when he'd rather read than do laundry, or eat when he should be studying. It was a little - kinda - very terrifying, if he thought about it for too long, because he knew that he shouldn't be used to it.</p><p>It wasn’t as bad as the first time, though. It mostly sucked because he’d barely healed from that. He just hoped his shit wouldn’t be bloody for the next week this round. That had been kinda scary, he'd actually thought he was going to die. He’d wondered if his little brother was going to have to bury him, too. He'd debated how many people would've bothered to go to the funeral. </p><p>Well, he made it this far, hadn't he? He'd survived and he was still standing. Still  breathing, even if he could barely feel it sometimes, with how his throat would seal up and suffocate his airways when the panic got unbearable.</p><p>Maybe Truth was just making his life a dart board of trauma and throwing shit to see what stuck. It was probably enjoying this, actually. Ed was less pissed about that than he’d normally be.</p><p>Tucker pulled out, finally. He said something about how he was ‘sorry he had to do that,’ blah blah blah ‘don’t tell anyone’ blah blah blah ‘I care, I really do’ blah blah blah. Sometimes Ed liked to make a game out of looking at his lips and pretending he was saying dumb shit over his actual words. </p><p>Well, dumber than usual.</p><p>Other times apologies. Genuine ones. When Ed was actually looking for some comfort. But he was in more of a not looking all together and getting the hell out of there kinda mood.</p><p>And then, he was off the coach. He could barely stand. Tucker offered to help him up the stairs, but knowing his brother, Ed got the feeling Al would lose it again if he saw Tucker’s face. Not that he wanted help anyways. </p><p>And then, he limped up the stairs, barely able to keep himself upright. </p><p>---</p><p>Standing in front of the door, Ed wondered how appropriate it would be to walk in and start talking like everything was normal. That was kinda what he wanted to do, actually. Waltz in, ignore the limp, start chatting about alchemy, or their days. And Al would say he found a stray cat, how cute it was, how much he wanted it, and Ed would tell him that they didn't have room for a pet, dammit, and to put it back where it was. Al would whine, and Ed would yell, Al would yell back-</p><p>But everything would be okay in the end. Their argument wouldn't mean anything.</p><p>The fight today, though, that had impact. Impact that Ed couldn't ignore. This was the kind of thing that rocked relationships to their core, and there he was, after the storm, but now in the eye of a hurricane.</p><p>It wouldn't be fair to Al to not answer any questions. He deserved an explanation, or at least the closest thing to one Edward could give.</p><p>Because fuck, Ed had no explanation. He'd been mulling it over for the past 2 and a half months, and he still didn't know why Tucker was doing this. The only clarification Ed could give was his side of the story, which largely consisted of 'this is for you'. Ed may have not been great with words, but even he could see how horribly that conversation would go. Al would just blame himself. </p><p>So yeah, he was fucked. </p><p>And he was tired, and sore, and numb, and he honest to God just wanted a nap. </p><p>But he put his hand on the doorknob, and he entered the room.</p><p>Al was sitting on the bed, his helmet down, his body faintly shaking, fiddling with his hands in his lap. At the noise, he startled and glanced up. His shoulders tensed and untensed in a matter of seconds. </p><p>"Hey," he sounded so dejected, so lost. </p><p>"Hey," Ed reflected the same tone right back at him.</p><p>"I ran the bath, if you want it." </p><p>"Al," He swallowed and crossed his arms. The cold air was really starting to bother his exposed flesh, or maybe that was just his anxiety making him shiver, or maybe it was both. "I know you probably want an explanation-"</p><p>"It's okay, brother," he sighed. He seemed so sad. He tried not to show it, but Ed saw it in every movement, every defeated word. "I'll stay here, you go wash up."</p><p>"Al-"</p><p>"You don't want to talk about it. I can tell," Al fiddled with his gauntlet. "It's okay."</p><p>It didn’t sound okay to Ed, not at all. It sounded like this was eating his brother up from the inside out, making him stew in guilt.</p><p>But Ed was thankful for his permission to not discuss it, because this situation sucked, and he didn’t want to talk about it.</p><p>Ed worried his lip. “Alright,” he took in a shaky breath. “Alright- I’ll be out in a bit.”</p><p>He walked towards the bathroom door, his hand resting over the doorknob, about to open it, when Alphonse spoke again. </p><p>“Brother?”</p><p>With a faint detachment, he noticed how much his eyes burned. “Yeah?”</p><p>“I love you.”</p><p>He swallowed. They never really said stuff like that, how much they cared about each other. It didn’t need to be spoken. It was all subtext, but upon hearing it, Ed nearly broke into tears. </p><p>It was a reminder that someone cared about him, cared that this was happening, and cared enough to help him through this. He was losing the ability to do all that himself, and he barely registered how starved he was for support until Al found out.</p><p>“I-I love you too, Al,” His throat was tight. The words came out choked, bordering on a sob. “I’m so sorry.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was dark. So dark. </p><p>It shrouded them, only interrupted by the occasional gleam of moonlight that shone through the branches that crowded overhead. It was a cloudless night, brighter than some, but the trees around them cast shadows that licked at Alphonse’s feet and made the hairs on his neck stand. </p><p>The mud stuck onto his sneakers with every step, every squelch as his shoes hit the dirt. His new tennis shoes, the one’s his mom had bought for him just a day before. Ed walked in front of him, soaking wet, as both of their towels were currently residing at the bottom of the river. </p><p>“It’s getting late,” Al’s heart was a pounding force against his chest, one that had his voice shaking with every syllable. “Brother, are you sure you know which way you’re going?”</p><p>“It’s fine, Al,” he grinned, or at least Alphonse thought he did. It was hard to tell. “We just have to keep walking this way. Mom’s probably shining the lantern right now, we’ll be able to see it soon.”</p><p>“I don’t- I don’t think we should keep going,” Al said. “What if we get lost?”</p><p>“We’ll make it out eventually.”</p><p>“What if we’re going the wrong way?”</p><p>Ed sighed. “There’s gotta be an end somewhere. We’ll just follow the river.”</p><p>Al gulped, though it was a difficult action with how tight his throat felt. He’d never been lost before. It was scary. “Mom’s totally gonna ground us.”</p><p>Ed just kept walking forward, moving branches aside, clearing a path for each of them. </p><p>“You think she’s worried?” Al asked. He just wanted to fill the silence with something. The sounds of the woods around them were too eerie. The wind whipping through the trees, animals rustling, and occasionally, he could’ve sworn he heard a howl. Al always liked animals, but wolves just seemed mean.</p><p>“We can take care of ourselves,” A little bit of Ed’s hair caught on a branch, and he picked the leaves out of it as he walked. They fluttered to the ground, one after another, meeting their siblings on the forest floor. “We’ll get home soon, and then she’ll tuck us in, and everything’ll be fine.”</p><p>Al sighed. They weren’t supposed to play in the river this late, but it had been so hot outside. Not like that was a problem now, though. He was absolutely drenched. The chill of the water was seeping into his flesh, biting into his bones, and making him shiver as the night grew colder.</p><p>“We shouldn’t have come out here, huh?” Al asked.</p><p>“If she gets mad, I’ll tell her it was my idea.”</p><p>“I agreed to come, though,” Al pouted. </p><p>“Better only one of us gets in trouble than both, Al. But she'll probably take away dessert for a few weeks like she did last time,” Ed sighed. It played into a smile, though, and he turned around. “Hey! But then I can just mooch off of you.”</p><p>Al crossed his arms and huffed. "That's not fair-”</p><p>“Who was it who saved you from drowning again?” Ed teased. “Me! Because I’m an awesome big brother.”</p><p>“I wasn’t <em> drowning.” </em></p><p>“Then why were you flailing, huh?”</p><p>“I was just-” Al cut himself off and groaned. “I hate you.”</p><p>“That’s mean, considering I saved your life.”</p><p>“I wish you hadn’t, because now we don’t have a towel <em> or </em>a map, and we’re lost!”</p><p>There was just enough light to see that Ed frowned. It was a fleeting expression, but it looked.. regretful. “Right," he scratched the back of his neck.</p><p>“What if we don’t get home?” Al’s lip quivered. “What if nobody finds us?”</p><p>“Al, come on, don’t be stupid.” </p><p>“I’m not being stupid!” Alphonse clenched his fist. “We’re lost, and you’re an <em> idiot </em>if you think we aren’t!”</p><p>“Well <em> you’re </em>the one who jumped in the river even though you knew it was deep!”</p><p>“Well <em> maybe </em> I would’ve gotten out fine on my own if <em> you </em>hadn’t ran in and gotten us both caught in the current!”</p><p>“I thought you were drowning!” </p><p>“I would’ve been fine,” Al huffed. “I don’t need you to save me all the time.”</p><p>Ed froze, opened his mouth, and then looked away. His eyes were hidden by floppy bangs that clung to the sweat on his forehead. He chewed on his lip. Al couldn’t even begin to read his face, because there was<em> so much</em>. His lips pulled taut, the furrow in his eyebrows, angry, but forlorn, how he seemed to shake, how his gaze was far off and wasn’t quite there<em>.   </em></p><p>Why was his big brother acting like that? Like he was hurting? Al opened his mouth, about to speak, to ask, when something interrupted him.</p><p>“Edward! Alphonse!” </p><p>A voice called through the woods. It was anxious, almost manic, but also kind.</p><p>It was a magical feeling of relief that washed over him in that moment. They were safe again. They could go home.</p><p>“Mom!” Al shouted. “Mom! We’re over here!”</p><p>There was rustling and movement, pounding feet against muddy forest floors, the crunch of leaves, frantic shouting. Their own yelling, and then hers back. A game of marco-polo, and soon their mother came into sight. Armed with lanterns, a few townspeople stood behind her. </p><p>“Al! Ed!” Her gaze landed on them, and when Al saw the relief in her eyes, the way her shoulders unfurled and her breath slowed, guilt coiled within his heart. “You scared the shit out of me!”</p><p>“Mom!” Al’s eyes were damp as he reached out for her. “You found us.”</p><p>“Of course I did baby,” She took a step forward and leaned down to hug him, but as soon as she did, she withdrew. Her eyebrows furrowed. “You’re soaking wet. Don’t tell me you were in the river again?”</p><p>“Sorry.” Ed grumbled and kicked a nearby rock. It sailed into the forest, a startled squirrel jutting out from behind the bush it landed in.</p><p>“Edward,” she frowned. “You know better than this. He’s your responsibility, you’re the older brother.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>She sighed. “Come on you two, let’s go home.”</p><p>---</p><p>The bath was nice. Soap, the scent of roses, and hot water that soothed his aching muscles. He liked to make the bubbles into shapes, sometimes, like a sculpture. Focusing on that, on the little silly stuff he could do, it let him get his mind off of things. Even if it was childish and probably dumb. Definitely dumb. He furrowed his eyebrows. </p><p>It had been nearly an hour now. And while he still owed it to Al, the last thing he wanted to do was go out and face him.</p><p>“Brother,” Speak of the devil. Al’s voice was soft, like he was afraid Ed would break into a million pieces at the littlest of noises. Ed only had the energy to scowl harder at that thought. “Are you alright?”</p><p>“‘M fine," he sank lower into the water, into the bubbles, until they were up to his jaw and he could barely be seen. He closed his eyes and took in how soft they were against his flesh, how they would pop with every small movement. </p><p>“Okay. If you need something, tell me.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Ed sighed. “I will.”</p><p>---</p><p>It took him another 10 minutes to gather the resolve to step out of the bathtub. 5 minutes to dry off and get dressed without looking at his reflection. One minute of standing in front of the door, wondering what he could say, how he could make this better.</p><p>Ed stepped out of the bathroom. His hand was still on the handle when Al spoke from where he sat, waiting on the bed, his helmet downcast and his gauntlets limp in his lap.</p><p>“It’s not your fault.” </p><p>Ed scowled. </p><p>“It is.”</p><p>“No,” And Al sounded so pained. So anguished. Like he desperately, desperately just wanted Ed to believe in what he was saying. To believe in <em> himself</em>. “It’s not.”</p><p>Ed swallowed. His throat was tight, the previous numbness dissipating and unsheathing the pain that lay beneath it. Al saying that really sucked, it did, because Ed wanted to believe him. He wanted to jump into his brother’s arms and cry and sob and beg him to repeat it again and again. For him to say it until Ed could trust it, and maybe then he'd feel a little less alone. A little less like the memories and pain and guilt were weighing him down, day by day, until just getting out of bed felt like a chore at times.</p><p>His eyes were damp. He wiped them with his sleeve and glowered when he saw the twin wet splotches now on his hoodie.</p><p>“I’m sorry you had to see that.” </p><p>Al needed comforting more than he did. Ed was used to the cruelty, feeling it, experiencing it, but Al had been naive up until an hour ago. He was still new to the world, to how unfair it is, to how people will take and take and take from you until you’re screaming and have nothing left. </p><p>Ed really meant it when he said it was good that Al didn’t know what sex was. But now he did, and all Ed could do was hope he never had to experience it. </p><p>“Brother,” Al sighed. “I should be the one apologizing. I should’ve seen the signs.”</p><p>“I-I didn’t want you to,” The frog in his throat was making it hard to speak. The tightness it caused in his voice only made him feel more dejected. “This is too much for you to have to deal with.”</p><p>“It’s too much for you to deal with, too.”</p><p>“I’m fine.”</p><p>“No,” Al said, a smile in his voice. Patience, Ed realized, and a gentle nudge in the right direction. Ed really did mean it when he said his brother was his compass, because not only would he probably be dead without him, but lost too. “You’re not.”</p><p>The walls of numbness and hurt and fear came tumbling down. Because Al was right, yet again, and having somebody repeating it back to him, validating it, was all he needed to get everything he'd suppressed burst through at once. He gripped the doorway and shut his eyes tight. Tight enough to see stars and swirls and almost pretend he could get lost in the darkness. </p><p>He took in a deep breath, meant to be steadying, meant to calm him down, and it turned into a sob.  And then another. And then another. And the entire time, Al sat there, on his bed, allowing him to cry, telling him it was okay. Not judging him, or yelling at him, or anything else. Just being there. Just supporting him.</p><p>And maybe he was a little selfish for it, but he was relieved that Al knew. That the game had ended, finally, after so many months. Because he desperately, desperately wanted someone to understand how much he was hurting, to tell him it was going to be okay. </p><p>His lip quivered, his eyes stung, and he hated himself for not being strong enough to get through this without breaking down. Al needed him to be standing. And at the moment, it felt like he was so close to crumpling on the floor again, like he did the first night. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he gripped the door handle until his knuckles were white and his fingers ached. He leaned on it, trying not to be crushed beneath the weight of his guilt and pain. “I’m so sorry you had to see that. It’s not fair- It’s not-” He hiccuped. “I didn’t want you to have to <em> see that</em>.”</p><p>Ed couldn’t look him in the eyes, but he really wondered if his brother hated him for this. For not being strong enough to say no, for letting this happen, for ruining their second chance at a family. For being too promiscuous, or wearing the wrong clothes, or doing something, anything, that caused Tucker to want to do this.</p><p>“Brother,” Al said. “It’s <em> okay, </em>I swear. I’m not mad at you.”</p><p>But he spoke like he didn’t. Like he wasn’t. And that almost, almost made it worse, because Ed had spent so long telling himself he would be.</p><p>Ed wiped his tears again and glared at the floor. “Well, you should be.”</p><p>“It’s not your fault.”</p><p>“But I still ruined it, didn’t I?” Ed laughed. It was as bitter and forlorn and wretched as he felt. He tilted his head to the ceiling and wished there was an answer within the patterns of the paint. “You were so happy. Everyday you’d talk about how nice he was to let us live here, how cool all the research was. You were so happy, and I ruined it.”</p><p>Al had a shot at prosperity, and Ed had been stupid enough to destroy it in less than 5 minutes. He should’ve been more vigilant. He should’ve convinced Tucker to keep it somewhere private. He should’ve sent Al out with more to do-</p><p>“Stop blaming yourself for everything, brother.” Al sighed as he interrupted Ed's thoughts, practically reading them as if they were words spoken aloud.</p><p> “I shouldn’t have yelled,” Al sighed and fiddled with the hem of his loincloth. He would do it with his clothes, too, back when he had a body. “I should’ve listened to you and went upstairs earlier. I probably just made things worse, didn’t I?”</p><p>“You really did a number on his face,” Ed pressed his lips into a shaky smile. “I don’t think I’ve seen him that pissed in a while.”</p><p>“Bastard deserved it.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Ed laughed again, or maybe it was another sob, he wasn’t sure. “He did.”</p><p>There was silence. Uncomfortable, yet understanding silence. Ed ran his fingers through his hair. He kept extra ties on him now, but he couldn’t be bothered to braid it again. His sight was blurred with tears and his hands were probably shaking too hard to even try.</p><p>“What are we going to do, brother?” Al was the first to break the awkward, contemplative quiet. “I can’t watch this happen to you. I <em> can’t</em>.”</p><p>“I know,” Ed whispered, nothing but guilt in his voice, nothing but spoken and underlying apologies. He honestly didn’t think there were enough condolences in the world to make up for this.</p><p>“I wish you would’ve told me.”</p><p>Ed chuckled. “No, you don’t.”</p><p>“Yes I do!” Al banged his gauntlet on the mattress. It was sudden, too sudden, and Ed willed himself not to flinch. “You always take everything on yourself. And you say that you don’t, but you know that you do, and all I want to do is help you, but you never let me in! It’s like you don’t trust me enough to know!”</p><p>“I do trust you, Al.”</p><p>“Then why didn’t you tell me?!”</p><p>“Because I was embarrassed, okay!” As soon as he yelled he recoiled and bit his lip. He took a deep, steadying breath, and he lowered his voice. It was soft, fleeting, hesitant, because he wanted to speak, get it all out, but it was just so <em> hard </em> to be honest after lying for so long. “I was embarrassed, and I didn’t want you to think of me like that. I didn’t want you to have to worry over nothing.”</p><p>“It’s not nothing, though,” Al clenched the sheet with his gauntlet. The fabric bunched around his angry grip, and Ed wondered if he’d tear a hole through it at this rate. “This is serious. What he’s doing is wrong.”</p><p>“You think I don’t know that?” Ed snapped. “I’m choosing to do this because I have to, Al. We can’t get kicked out. We need his research, and if I leave, he’s going to get us both arrested.”</p><p>“But this is <em> wrong,"</em> Al whispered. </p><p>Yeah, maybe it was, but it was still necessary. They were so close. There were only two more weeks until the test, and they were so goddamn close.</p><p>“Adults have sex all the time, I can handle it,” he shrugged and cast his gaze aside. “It’s not even that bad, really.”</p><p>Al shook his head. “It’s not worth it. We can find another way. We don’t have to join the military, we could run away and move to Xing. Start our search there.”</p><p>“I can’t cross the desert with automail.”</p><p>“Then Drachma.”</p><p>Ed chuckled. “They’re crazy.”</p><p>“Creta,” Al continued. “It doesn’t matter, but we can’t stay here.”</p><p>“Nina wouldn’t be safe,” he couldn’t leave her here. It wouldn’t be fair. She had nobody else to protect her, she was his responsibility, just like Al. “What if he hurts her while we’re gone?”</p><p>“We can take her with us.”</p><p>“Al, we <em> can’t</em>. He’ll find us.” </p><p>There wasn’t any way out of there, Ed had thought about it, debated every single scenario, and there just <em> wasn’t. </em>He wouldn’t risk it unless there was a 100% chance they’d be safe. That wasn’t realistic, though. They had nowhere to go and there wasn’t any guarantee the military wouldn’t find them if they ran. At least Tucker was predictable. </p><p>“So he’s been-” A crack in Al’s voice cut him off. “This <em> whole </em>time?”</p><p>Ed crossed his arms. “It doesn’t matter.” </p><p>“Yes, it does!”</p><p>“No, it doesn’t!” </p><p>“Why can’t you just be honest with me?”</p><p>Ed glanced away, but Al’s gaze continued to bore into him, hunting for answers, waiting for a response, even as Ed stared at the floor. He thinned his lips and searched for a way to phrase this that wouldn't either make it worse or make him sound even more pathetic.</p><p>“I don’t want you to have to deal with my burdens, Al,” he shrugged. It was a small, pitiful, pained motion. “I’ve done nothing but make your life harder. I’m a horrible older brother, and maybe I’m selfish for it, but I didn’t want you to realize that. For this to be the reason you realize that.”</p><p>“Brother,” Al’s voice was soft. “I don't think you're horrible.”</p><p>Ed laughed. He laughed because he already knew that was what Al would say, and it only proved his point. “And that’s the crux of it all,” Another wet, pathetic tear hit the wood below, and he grit his teeth over the urge to sob. “No matter how much I fuck up, you still won’t admit it. You still stay. You still <em> look </em> at me, and- and have faith in me, and you act like I’m this superhero, but I’m <em> not.</em>” </p><p>He braced himself. For the anger, for the pain, for Al to come to the realization Ed had always known, somewhere deep down. For his brother to yell and cry and finally leave him or hit him like every single other person in his life. </p><p>And that pissed him off, those thoughts, because Al was the best thing he had. Too goddamn nice and patient and kind for his own good. He was Ed's compass, his rock, his reason for moving forward. He'd promised himself that Tucker would never lay a finger on his little brother, and he hadn't, by technicality-</p><p>But this, this was almost worse. Because his thoughts were rotting from the inside out, and they were trying to ruin the only good thing in his life. Trying to convince him that Al either hates him or would soon. He’d already lost everything. His mother, his limbs, his virginity, and now it felt like he was going to lose his brother, too.</p><p>“I stay with you because I love you,” Al whispered, and Ed cried some more. He needed that, he needed to hear it. “And I don’t care how much you mess up, because I love you, and I’m not going to stop. No matter how much you push me away.”</p><p>He took another sharp, pathetic, shuddering breath. It was painful in his lungs and didn't give him nearly as much air as he needed to speak, so he tried again. And Al still waited there, for him to catch his breath, because maybe he was running a race with no finish line, but at least he wasn't alone.</p><p>But eventually they were both going to die of exhaustion, so he should probably give Al another chance to do the smart thing and quit before they do.</p><p>“You should leave, Al,” He chewed on his lip. “I’ll meet up with you when I can, but you shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe.”</p><p>“I’m not the one in danger.”</p><p>Ed bit his tongue. “You should still go.”</p><p>“You’re pushing me away,” Al sounded hurt. “Why are you pushing me away?”</p><p>“Why do you think, Al?” Ed shrugged. “It’s a shit situation, and I don’t want you involved.”</p><p>“You can’t just always tell me what to do and say it’s for my own good,” Al crossed his arms. “Have you ever considered that I <em> want </em> to be here? That I <em> want </em> to help you through this, because I care about you, and you’re hurting?”</p><p>“Have <em> you </em>ever considered that you should get the hell out before he attacks you too?!”</p><p>He covered his mouth as soon as he said it, but the words were already out. Fuck. He hadn't meant to say that, he <em> really </em>hadn't meant to say that.</p><p>“Brother?” Al whispered. “Is that what this is about? You think he’s going to r-”</p><p>Ed couldn't let him finish that sentence, so he spoke. </p><p>“One time,” his voice was manic, almost entertained, like he was telling a real funny story, and not repeating one of the most traumatizing moments of his life. “One time, I fought back, and he punched me in the face. And then he leaned in, real close to my ear, and you wanna know what he said?”</p><p>Ed had gone so long holding this in, holding every little detail in, and now it felt like it was all spilling out faster than he could control. Al was silent, and he took that as a signal to continue. </p><p>“He said that if I ever tried that again, he was going to wipe the blood seal off of your armor himself, bit by bit, and then deconstruct the rest. And they’d never be able to arrest him, because there <em> wouldn’t be a body.</em>”</p><p>He leveled his stare with his brother's, looked him in the eyes, tried to convey just how serious this was, hoped to God that Alphonse would take his warning. Because maybe it was just a threat to get him to shut up and bend over, but Ed wasn't about to take that chance. Not when it came to Al. </p><p>“Do you get it now?” He spat. “Because I fucking do. This isn’t a game, and you need to get the hell out before I do something stupid and wake up to find you dead."</p><p>The words had their intended punch, apparently, because Al froze and recoiled. </p><p>“I-” Al's voice was barely audible. “Oh.”</p><p>"That's also why I didn't wanna tell you, since you were so fucking curious," Ed furrowed his eyebrows. "I didn't wanna have to break the news that your step father would hurt you if he couldn't hurt me."</p><p>"He's not my stepfather anymore."</p><p>"Yeah, but he was," Ed clenched his fist. "And now I bet you feel like you were better off not knowing."</p><p>Al was silent, and then he sighed. Ed knew he was being harsh, but he also needed Al to understand how serious this was. Al was still more of a child than he would ever get to be. Clever, too smart for his own good, but still a kid to him. The gap in maturity that was once small, once non-existent, had widened. It hurt, it tore at him that he couldn’t relate to Al like he could before, but Ed would do <em> anything </em>to make sure he wouldn’t catch up. Wouldn’t become jaded and damaged. Wouldn’t have to see the full extent of what people can do to you, either to hurt you, or satisfy something within themselves, or whatever reason people use to justify doing fucked up shit.</p><p>"Is that why you were so panicked earlier? Because you thought he was going to- to kill me?"</p><p>"Yeah," Ed ran a hand through his hair. The strands were soft on his flesh, almost comforting. "That’s why."</p><p>"Nothing's going to happen to me, brother," Al started. "I can defend myself-"</p><p>"I can too," Ed spat. "But he still got me, and he got me good. Neither of us are immune, Al, and you need to run while you still can."</p><p>"I don't know how many times I have to drill this into your thick skull, brother, but whatever problems we face, we face them together," he huffed. "So shut up about making me leave and start telling me what your goddamn plan is, because this won't work forever."</p><p>As good as it felt to hear that, to have Al say that, to know that he wouldn’t abandon him, it didn’t make it any less stupid. They took on everything as a team before, sure, but this was different. This wasn’t a death that was out of their hands, or a shared mistake. Tucker only wanted Ed, he didn’t care about Alphonse. It was a hostage situation, and when you go to war, you have to be wary of the captives.</p><p>"It doesn't have to last forever, Al,” And he hoped it fucking didn’t. “Just until we get our certifications."</p><p>"And if we fail?" </p><p>"We won't."</p><p>"We might."</p><p>"We <em> won't." </em></p><p>"What if he doesn't let us leave?" Al asked. "What if he tries to kill you? Do you even have a <em> plan </em> for that? Or are you just going to sacrifice yourself the first chance you get because you're too scared to look for another way?"</p><p>Oh, so that's the game he wanted to play? Did he think Ed didn't consider that? That he was just putting up with this, by himself, for 3 months because he wanted to? That he didn't lay awake at night, worried to sleep, because his little brother was downstairs, and there was no way to make sure he was alive? That he didn’t risk getting attacked at 3AM just so he could go downstairs and check to make sure, because his brain was doing a really convincing job of telling him Al had been murdered and it was his fault? </p><p>He'd never been safe. He was always, always, always planning. Preparing. Watching his back, alchemizing his windows shut, peeking around corners, finding out which stairs creaked and which ones didn't, just so he could go grab some food without getting pulled into a different room and fucked raw. Just so he could live his life without being hurt so much.</p><p>"Shut up, Al!" He furrowed his eyebrows. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about. I have worked so <em> goddamn </em>hard to keep this from touching you, so don't fucking tell me about plans!" </p><p>"You're being irrational! You can't keep this up forever!"</p><p>"I can, actually," Ed spat. "And I will if I have to."</p><p>And Al- </p><p>Shook. Hard. It was sudden, and once it started, it only got more intense. His armor rattled, and maybe he couldn't breathe, but he definitely looked like he was sobbing.</p><p>And Ed-</p><p>Froze. The anger raced out, sudden and violent, and as soon as it left, the guilt came back.</p><p>Shit. He went too far, didn't he? </p><p>"That's what's so scary, brother," Al choked out. "That you'll do that- That you went through this, and I didn't even <em> know." </em></p><p>"Al, hey," He took a step forward and moved to sit down next to his brother. He put a hand, comforting as he could make it, on his shoulder. "I'm sorry for yelling, alright?"</p><p>"Do you have any idea how terrifying it is," Al paused, his voice trembling, like every word physically pained him to say. "To come home to that, and to know that it could've kept happening, and I'd never have a clue?" </p><p>Ed drew his lips into a line. No, he didn’t, but all it did was remind him of how thankful he was sometimes that Al had lost his body and not him. Maybe he was a horrible person for that, but the thought of Al in his shoes right now made him sick. And if the roles were reversed, he knew he probably wouldn't have stopped at a punch. Tucker would be 6 feet under as they were speaking. </p><p>"Al, I'm sorry."</p><p>"I don't want you to apologize, brother," Al shook his head. "I want you to realize how <em> terrified </em> I am for you right now,” he sobbed again, his helmet between his hands, and as Ed watched him, he only felt worse. “I'm scared- I'm so, <em> so </em>scared."</p><p>"I know," He smiled. Once again trying to comfort in a way that words can't, but with how Al flinched at it, he doubted it was working. "I know, Al. I am too, but we have to keep moving. We have to get through the next two weeks, and we can take everything else a step at a time after that."</p><p>"So you want me to stay quiet?" Al chuckled. It was manic and detached, and it scared Ed, because it sounded a little too close to how he did sometimes. "Just stay upstairs and pretend nothing is happening?"</p><p>Ed furrowed his eyebrows and tried to ignore the pain that came from hearing Al sound so despondent. He had to stay determined, to commit to what he was about to say. They didn’t have any other options. This was about survival, pure and simple. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t just, but it meant that neither of them would end up either on the back of a milk carton or in a trial room two days from now. </p><p>"Yeah, Al, that's exactly what I want," he leveled his gaze. "Otherwise, you're gonna punch him in the face again, and whatever happens after that is gonna be a lot worse than sex."</p><p>Al choked out another sob. </p><p>"I-I <em> hate </em> this."</p><p>And the phrase was filled with so much conviction, anger, misery, so many emotions that Ed had never seen him show like this before. </p><p>Al deserved a better life than this. One where he wasn't stuck in a metal prison, or living in this house, or having such a shit brother. Because really, how fucked up did Ed have to be, asking him to do this? Asking him to pretend nothing was wrong? Because Ed's been doing that for 3 months now, and it drove him to the edge, but there he was, subjecting Al to the same fate. </p><p>"It's not gonna be pleasant, Al, but it'll be worth it."</p><p>He really hated himself for this. </p><p>"That's what mom used to say," Al kept his eyes on the floor as he spoke. "When we got hung up on our studies."</p><p>It was. Maybe he was trying to channel her magic, just a little bit, because he didn't know how to parent and they weren't getting another one anytime soon. He’d always wanted to grow up fast, to race to adulthood, to be taken seriously, but now Ed would really give anything to be a kid again, playing with his brother in the fields of Resembool. </p><p>But nostalgia for what was is what got him here in the first place, and so he disregarded that thought completely. He was the adult here, whether he liked it or not.</p><p>"It's good fuckin' advice, too."</p><p>"It must've been hard," Al's voice shook. "To not be able to tell anyone."</p><p>He gave a pained, fleeting smile, because yeah, it was. It was the hardest thing he'd been through in his entire life. "Don't pity me, Al, you know I hate it," Ed rolled his eyes. "I'm still standing, ain't I?" </p><p>"You're minimizing it," Al said, his voice heavy with grief.  "Like you always do. Like you did every time I asked you what was wrong. You’re trying to ignore it so it doesn’t hurt as much."</p><p>"Don't psychoanalyze me, Alphonse," he crossed his arms and slouched onto the bed. "My brain's 10 different layers of fucked right now, so it's not gonna work."</p><p>"I think that's the point of psychoanalysis, brother."</p><p>He chuckled and punched Al's shoulder lightly. It made a hollow thunk. "Shut up, smartass." </p><p>---</p><p>Al sat awake on the bed next to his brother, watching his fitful sleep, hearing him hyperventilate. The twitches, the whimpers, the way his lip would quiver, how he’d whisper, asking for something to stop.</p><p>His newfound wisdom was heavy on his heart and mind. He still couldn't believe that he hadn’t noticed anything before, because it was just so <em> obvious.  </em></p><p>But hindsight is 20/20, as they say. And if there was anything Alphonse regretted not having, it was hindsight. All of this could've been avoided. He shouldn't have let his guard down. He should've checked in more often. </p><p>He realized that it had always been like this. Ed had always shouldered the blame onto himself, even when they were kids. He hadn’t recognized it, back in the woods, but understood now. He saw the exact same pained look on his face-</p><p><em> - Ed froze, opened his mouth, and then looked away. His eyes were hidden by floppy bangs that clung to the sweat on his forehead. He chewed on his lip. Al couldn’t even begin to read his face, because there was </em> <b> <em>so much</em> </b> <em> . His lips pulled taut, the furrow in his eyebrows, angry, but forlorn, how he seemed to shake, how his gaze was far off and wasn’t quite </em> <em>there</em> <em> . -<br/></em></p><p>- Only to be caught in passing moments. Only to be glanced at when he didn’t think Al was looking. His brother was still throwing himself in rivers to keep him from drowning, even years later. He may have not been 5 anymore, but they were still lost in the woods and waiting for rescue. </p><p>But the difference between the two stories was that their mother was dead, now. She couldn't find them, sopping wet, following the river's path. There were no townspeople armed with lanterns. No light other than the stars and the moon and their hopes to make it through safely, their wills to continue, forged by years of shared experiences and trust. There was no guarantee they’d survive the forest until the sun rose. </p><p>But they still had each other, and so Al decided that had to mean something. They were miserable, and people say misery loves company, but maybe that wasn't such a bad thing at times. Al could take up a little bit of the burden, now that they were older.</p><p>So, he guarded the door. </p><p>Alphonse listened, waited, protected until 2 AM came and his brother woke up screaming. Ed was half delirious from sleep, fully panicked, sobbing, flailing, pleading for Al to stay with him. Al held his hand, told him he’d be okay, and ignored how wrong it was to see him acting like that. He reminded him that he was loved, even if he didn't feel like it. He whispered that nobody could hurt him or touch him or make him do anything he didn't want to, even though he knew it was a lie. Ed knew too, but he nodded and shut his eyes again, because that was what he needed to hear. </p><p>Tucker called for Ed the day after everything came to light. Al had thought once more about pleading with Ed to not go and running with him far, far away from there. A hotel room with suspicious hygiene, lumpy mattresses, a window that gives a view of the people passing outside. Hard concrete under an overpass, trash surrounding them, cars that whizzed by as Ed slept and Al lit a fire to keep him warm. A train out of the country, so they could eat snacks, laugh, gossip, watch the scenery pass and know that they were safe again. Anywhere, he didn’t care, as long as it wasn’t that too large, sparsely decorated mansion that made him jump every time it settled, made him throw a hand out to protect his brother when a door opened too quickly.</p><p>But he didn’t beg, or fight, or say anything at all. He simply watched with a sense of dejection as his brother left, his stomach sinking so far down that he could practically feel it again, despite his lack of a body.</p><p>And he ran another bath. The next day at the market, he bought more oils and bubbles for it, using the little wad of cash that their mother had left them. The one she had told them to take care of themselves with. </p><p>It became routine. Ed would leave, come back, and sit in the bathroom for hours by himself. Some days Al heard muffled sobs, others were silent, but the worst ones were when Ed would walk in with that forced, despairing smile. </p><p>After Ed was done, he would get ready, and they would venture down into the kitchen together so he could eat. Then to the library, where they would grab the books they needed before racing up the stairs as quietly as possible, as if silence alone would be enough to make Tucker forget about them completely. They'd take turns watching each other's backs, making sure there was nothing out of the ordinary, that there were no more surprises.</p><p>The house was anything but peaceful. And everyday, Ed seemed more and more distant. His skin was paler, his thoughts more scattered, the bags under his eyes ripe and dark like the night sky.</p><p>So Al held on tighter. He tried to get him to do things, study, eat, sleep, whatever he could. Whatever he needed to keep busy, because idle hands were the devil’s plaything, and they already had a devil in their life. </p><p>10 days into their routine and 3 days until the exam, Maes called them up and told them to get their things because he'd be there in an hour.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Trigger warning for panic attacks, slut-shaming language, victim-blaming (from the victim), and lot of not fun stuff to be honest. This chapters kinda heavy at some points.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ed hunched forward, his fingers sliding through his hair and braiding it with practiced accuracy. The bed beneath him was a small comfort. Plush and relaxing, it helped him get lost in the rhythm as he twisted the strands around one another.</p><p>He’d already changed into his go-to outfit, with the small adjustment of a turtleneck rather than his tank top. He thanked his lucky stars that it was winter and he could blame his layers on the icy bite of Central's December weather, rather than.. Well, he didn't want to think about it.</p><p>Alphonse sat on the bed across from him and tapped his foot. It hit the floorboards with patterned, hollow thunks, and only served to heighten the squirm of anxiety in Ed’s own stomach.</p><p>“He’ll be here soon, brother,” Al said.</p><p>“I know- I just,” Ed huffed. “I gotta break it to Tucker. He’ll be pissed if we leave without him knowing.”</p><p>“You didn’t tell him before?”</p><p>Ed rolled his eyes. “Trust me, it’s better if we wait until the last minute. Gives him less time to throw a tantrum.”</p><p>"He'll be angry when we get back," Al's foot rapped against the wood with newfound intensity.</p><p>Ed sighed. It was true, but he’d rather not see Maes fresh from that room. The less notice he gave Tucker, the less time the man had to make him miserable before they left. He just wanted to enjoy himself for a bit without having to be reminded, without having the world slip through his fingers and into numbness for hours at a time.</p><p>He'd been losing time.</p><p>At first it was barely noticeable, his head felt airy, like he was floating outside of his body and far, far away. He’d get all spacy, forget what he was doing, detach himself while inside that room. Especially while he was in that room. There were times when Tucker would be finished with him and he’d realize he couldn’t recall most of what happened. He hadn't really cared, though. It seemed less important than everything else. </p><p>As much as he’d almost appreciated it for a few months, he was starting to do it more often than not. He would just be there, and then he wouldn’t. Like a light switch, always either on or off. It was getting harder and harder to pinpoint when it even started getting this bad, but he recognized the small holes in his mind where memories were meant to be. It was more difficult to recall things he knew before, too. He could recollect getting flashbacks of stuff Tucker did or said, but he couldn’t bring the incidents themselves to the front.</p><p>It was terrifying. And it was only getting worse. </p><p>Footsteps resounded off of hardwood floors outside his door, slow and deliberate. Ed knew who it was the second he heard them. As he walked, Tucker was a child burning ants below a magnifying glass, drawing out the process, watching them writhe, asserting his dominance. His pacing scared them and he knew it, relished in it, or at least that was how it felt. </p><p>Ed honestly couldn’t tell what things were meant to be threatening and what things he just <em>found</em> threatening anymore. He couldn’t tell if Tucker was trying to scare him on purpose, or if he just thought the man so terrifying that he spiraled out on his own. Because really, most of the time, he was nice. It was only when Ed said or did something that pissed him off when he wouldn’t be. </p><p>The steps stopped in front of his door. His brain was getting foggy again. </p><p>“Edward,” Tucker spoke. “Come out.”</p><p>Ed stood and walked towards the door. His strides were smooth, indifferent, and he tried not to think without spacing out completely. It was a difficult balance and he found that pathetic, really, because it had never been a problem until 3 months ago. </p><p>The anticipation was always the worst part. It left him numb and yet shaking, thoughtless and yet he felt like he was speeding down a highway, his inevitable doom approaching as he reached the edge of a cliff. As Ed walked to the door, he was in the seconds of inbetween before the car hit the ground and the windshield broke, before there was glass in his chest, the smell of gasoline, an explosion.</p><p>He put his hand on the doorknob and opened it before he could give himself time to run or breakdown. On the other side stood Tucker, dressed in a t-shirt and pants. Ed felt strangely calm as he spoke words that could easily get him either a black eye, sex without lube, or both.</p><p>“I can’t today.”</p><p>He said it like they were simply going to lunch, or to a movie, and he had to cancel at the last minute. It was easier to tell himself that, actually.</p><p>Tucker raised an eyebrow. “Why’s that?” </p><p>“Ma-Hughes is getting us.” </p><p>He didn't want to seem too attached. He got the feeling it would only be used against him. Or maybe he was just being paranoid again, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t about to find out.</p><p>“And you can’t cancel? It’s Christmas," Tucker scowled. Ed’s heart rate picked up.</p><p>“I know that,” he crossed his arms. It was a small, meaningless protection, but it was better than nothing. “He invited us over there for the holiday.”</p><p>“And you said yes without asking me first?”</p><p>Ed shrugged and averted his gaze. </p><p>“Edward,” Tucker frowned. “I had something special planned for you, Al, and Nina.”</p><p>“Sorry.”</p><p>He wasn't. </p><p>Alexander barked. It was deep and throaty, especially when compared to the high ring of the chiming doorbell that followed it. Ed let his shoulders fall, just a little bit, because if nothing else, Tucker couldn’t do anything with a military officer 10 seconds away.</p><p>“That’s him, we gotta go now,” Ed nodded toward Al, who jumped as he realized what was happening. </p><p>His brother grabbed the presents they’d bought and the pair darted out the bedroom door. Their strides wasted little time as they sped down the hallway and towards the stairs. </p><p>“Who said I’d let you leave?” Tucker called from behind. </p><p>Ed’s stomach sank with his words. He took a deep breath and spun around to face the man. “Why do you care?”</p><p>“Because I’m your step-father, Edward.”</p><p>Ed scoffed. “You’re only my father when it’s convenient for you. I don't think most dads have sex with their kids."</p><p>"You're testing my patience," Tucker furrowed his eyebrows. </p><p>Ed squared his shoulders and glared, faking confidence and hoping that was enough to get the man to back off. He rarely bothered to stand his ground anymore. It never worked and he usually just shut down the second things got moving anyways, but he wasn’t about to lose this day out just because Tucker wanted to be a controlling asshole. He <em>needed</em> this break.</p><p>"Then what do you want? A blow job?" Ed snapped. "Because Hughes is going to find a way in if nobody answers, so unless you want a repeat of last time, I'd let it go."</p><p>Tucker took a step forward. "You don't get to tell me what to do, Ed." </p><p>"If you attack me right now, he's gonna know." </p><p>Tucker got closer. Ed held his breath, let his knees buckle, squeezed his eyes shut, already bracing for a blow. Tucker had only hit him once, but that didn't make it any better, did it? His heart hammered in his chest, threatening to break through and send him into either absolute panic or crippling apathy. </p><p>Ed heard the footfalls stop. Tucker’s breath was on his face, warm and suffocating as he spoke. "You're getting too mouthy." </p><p>Ed let the numbness take over and his anxiety dissipated. The cotton in his ears was back with a vengeance and he knew he was on the verge of shutting off again. Tucker continued to bide time, analyzing him, debating something, before the man sighed. </p><p> Ed stayed there for a few seconds, waiting to move, waiting for Tucker to change his mind, and then he cautiously opened his eyes. His knees were still shaking, but at least he wasn't getting dragged into the other room. </p><p> "You can punish me when I get back," Ed didn’t miss how defeated he sounded. Because as much as he liked to focus on the small stuff, the good stuff when he could, that didn’t stop the fact that he was fighting a losing battle. He huddled into his crossed arms and nodded towards his brother. "C'mon, Al." </p><p>They made their way down the stairs and to the door, ignoring the way Tucker bore his gaze into their backs.</p><p>Their footfalls were heavy on each step. Al trailed behind him. </p><p>"Are you sure this is a good idea, brother?" He asked. </p><p>"There's nothing he can do to me that he hasn't already," Ed shrugged. It was detached and forlorn, so different to how he actually felt, and yet so spot-on as well. "I probably won't remember it anyways." </p><p>Al didn't respond. Ed's own breath and steps sounded out of place in the bleak quiet of the hallway, like a snapping twig in the dead of night, entirely too loud above his brother’s deafening silence. </p><p>Ed quickened his pace and knit his eyebrows, because he was going to be strong. He was going to stand tall, and he was going to make this, everything, up to his brother. Somehow.</p><p>Or at least he really, really hoped that he could. </p><p>They reached the door. </p><p>Maes was on the porch, wearing slacks and a button up shirt. He grinned and waved as soon as he saw them, and Ed let his breath slow, just a little. They were safe, even if it was only for a day. </p><p>"Merry Christmas," Maes smiled. It was warm and helped Ed's legs feel a little less like crumbling platforms beneath a fearful body. "You have all your stuff?"</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>They made their way into the car, taking the time to toss the gifts in the trunk. As Ed moved to buckle his seatbelt, Maes spoke, "Are you sure you don't wanna spend today with your step-father? It's your first Christmas with him."</p><p>Ed averted his gaze. "He's working anyways."</p><p>"Ah, I see," Maes frowned. </p><p>The car moved from the driveway to the street, and as they left the mansion behind, Ed took a deep breath. It washed over him, relaxed his shoulders, cleared his brain like rain clears the chalk from sidewalks during a storm. It striped the canvas of his mind, carried away the anxiety like water trickling down hills and into streams. The result left him feeling bleak and a little depressed.</p><p>It had only been a few hours since he’d woken up and his eyelids were already deadweight threatening to snap closed. Everything was muddled. He was so, so tired.</p><p>"I never would've expected you to want to spend extra time with us, Ed," Maes teased. "I used to have to beg you just to come to dinner."</p><p>Ed crossed his arms. "Got nothing better to do." </p><p>"So you admit you like us?"</p><p>"I never said that." </p><p>He glanced up to the car mirror just in time to see Maes’s lips pull into a frown.</p><p>Ed opened his mouth to speak, to apologize, before closing it. He’d probably just make it worse, wouldn’t he? He knew he was being difficult, but it was hard to kick his foul moods once he got into them. And right now, he was definitely smack-dab in the middle of one.</p><p>He sighed and allowed his brain to tune out everything but the passing scenery. Hopefully by the time he came back down to earth, he’d be less pissed off.</p><p>“Ward- Edward!”</p><p>Ed snapped back into focus and glanced up, flinching with wide-eyes as he tried to locate the root of the sudden noise.</p><p>“We’re here,” Maes’s head was turned so he could look at Ed from the front seat. His eyebrows were drawn, lips pursed in concern.</p><p>Ed swallowed and allowed his breath to even. He was in Maes’s car. He was fine. Everything was fine.</p><p>“We just left," he said.</p><p>Maes raised an eyebrow. “Ed, it’s been twenty minutes.”</p><p>Oh. He glanced out his window.</p><p>They had stopped. Cars surrounded them, small and big, all tucked into parking spots. A few shriveled trees were scattered across neat, freshly mowed plots of grass, still damp from morning rain. Buildings loomed above him, three stories tall, each having a different number, each painted the same shade of blue. They were at the Hughes’s apartment complex. </p><p>“Right,” Ed sighed. “Must’ve dozed off.”</p><p>“Are you tired?” Maes asked. “We can take some time to rest before we go do anything.”</p><p>Ed closed his eyes, leaned his head back, and dropped the first response he could think of. He’d come up with some beforehand, just in case anyone asked.</p><p>“‘M fine, studying’s just been kicking my ass.” </p><p>“Oh!” Maes brightened. Ed got the feeling that was the right answer. “You’re just like Roy. He was a deadman walking for the month leading up to the test.”</p><p>“Don’t compare me to the bastard,” Ed slouched further into the carseat. “I’m perfectly energized.”</p><p>“Sure you are,” Maes beamed. It was teasing, and at it, Ed furrowed his eyebrows into a pout. It’s not like he <em>wanted</em> to be like this, it just happened. </p><p>“Brother and I are just a little tired, that’s all. Thank you for your concern.” Al said. His foot tapped against the car’s floor. It was getting harder and harder for Ed to resist the urge to tell him to cut it out.</p><p>“Well, then we better get celebrating,” Maes grinned. “You’ll be the happiest kids on the block by the time I’m done with you.”</p><p>Ed perked up. “What are we doing, anyways?” </p><p>“You boys ever been caroling?”</p><p>“When would we have-” Ed’s heart stopped as his brain processed what Maes was implying. In the span of three seconds, he gaped, blanched, and then turned a stark crimson. “No. No way.”</p><p>“Oh yes way,” Maes’s smile got sharper. “It’s family tradition. We do it every year.”</p><p>“I can’t sing!” </p><p>Al sighed. “Brother, don’t be difficult. We used to be in choir.”</p><p>He threw his hands up. “And it sucked! I hate it!” He crossed his arms again and stuck his nose towards the car’s ceiling. “I’m not doing it.”</p><p>“Wait, you two took choir?” Maes snickered like the fucking <em>traitor</em> he is. “How’d they get you to do that?”</p><p>“It was mandatory, and I hated it. I’m <em>not</em> singing.”</p><p>“Sometimes the people at the doorsteps give you their food.”</p><p>“I can make my own damn food!” </p><p>“Please, Ed?” Maes begged. “Elicia is excited to do it with you two.”</p><p>Ed may have been a performer, but he was definitely not a vocalist. He was more of a talk-really-loudly-and-get-everyone-to-pay-attention to him kind of person. Singing took actual practice and talent though, in a way that flashy clothes and yelling didn’t. But damn Maes Hughes, because he was starting to actually consider doing it, if only to pay the man back for getting him out of that house. </p><p>He sighed and grit his teeth. “Fine.”</p><p>“C’mon, Ed-” Maes paused. “Wait, you said yes?”</p><p>“Yeah, sure, whatever," he crossed his arms harder and huffed, blowing a piece of hair from his mouth. Maes’s grin got larger. </p><p>“It’ll be fun, I promise.” </p><p>Ed didn’t believe him for a second.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Ed was right. It was horrible. </p><p>They had to sing in parts, which made it worse. They were short on altos and he had to go with the girls. Al teased him about it until he got sorted in with the mezzos. That shut him up real quick.</p><p>His standards had been significantly lowered within the past few months, so he wasn’t nearly as whiny as usual. It was still better than what he’d usually be doing around this time. Maes seemed to notice his lack of irritation, but he didn’t comment. Ed figured the man was probably just happy he was shutting up and not causing a scene.</p><p>Maes would look at him, sometimes, like he wanted to ask something, but would end up skirting around it. It was annoying, really, because if there was one thing that drove Ed crazy, it was non-confrontational people, and it threw him off because Maes was usually <em>too</em> pushy. He just wanted the man to hurry up and say it. </p><p>Until he did. </p><p>He'd been walking back from a hot chocolate stand with Al, wind biting at his cheeks and tingeing them pink, fresh from caroling, when Maes sighed and asked-</p><p>“Ed, are you okay?”</p><p>Ed furrowed his eyebrows and kept his gaze on his cocoa. It was warm between his fingers. He took a sip and it scalded his tongue enough to keep him in the present, but the question was not helping his growing sense of unease. As much as he hated caroling, the day had been going too well. He didn’t trust it. </p><p>“Yeah, why?”</p><p>Honestly, what else was he supposed to respond with? </p><p>“You don’t seem like it.” </p><p>“Well then what <em>do</em> I seem like?” Ed snapped. Maes didn't know, there was no logical way that he could, but that didn't stop the twist in his stomach that told him to fight until he was left alone.</p><p>Maes crossed his arms. His gaze was intense, unimpressed, knit eyebrows and taut lips. “You’re spacing out on me, kid. A lot.”</p><p>Ed crossed his arms right back. “I'm tired. I told you that.”</p><p>“Are you sure that’s all?”</p><p>“Why do you care?” </p><p>“Ed,” Maes frowned. “I get it. You’re probably going through a lot right now-”</p><p>The twisting in his gut got worse. He had to stop himself from clenching his cocoa hard enough to make the paper cup break, though it did crinkle beneath his fingers.</p><p>“I’m not going through anything, Maes. I’m fine."</p><p>“Kid,” Maes pinched his eyebrows. “Look. We’re here for you, okay? When you need it. Military life isn’t gonna be easy, but if you need help, come to me and I’ll see what I can do.”</p><p>Ed opened his mouth to speak, but Al interrupted.</p><p>“Thank you, Mr. Hughes,” he scratched the back of his helmet. “For your support.”</p><p>“That goes for you too, Alphonse,” Maes smiled. “Make sure he doesn’t burn any buildings down for me, alright?”</p><p>“I can’t make that promise, honestly,” Al laughed.</p><p>Ed couldn't even be annoyed at that comment because the sheer relief of Al saving him from Maes's concern was still setting in. Ed may not be religious, but he was close to thanking God for his brother in that moment. Merry Christmas indeed.</p><p>Maes chuckled and slapped Alphonse on the back lightly. Al tensed. It was a difficult motion to catch, but Ed recognized it when he saw it, and it made him concerningly close to yelling at the man to get his hands off his brother before he made him. </p><p>But this was Maes, right? He wasn't like that. He <em>wasn't</em>. He couldn't be. </p><p>"So," Maes said, snapping him out of his panicked thoughts on whether or not they should get the hell out of here before something bad happens. "Any bright ideas for lunch?"</p><p>"I'm fine with anything, honestly," Ed shrugged.</p><p>
  <em>Be agreeable or you'll only piss him off. You're already causing a scene, keep this up and he'll-</em>
</p><p>Ed scowled. It was getting harder and harder to snap out of the mindset he used in that room. To separate himself from the person he was in there and who he was as a person.</p><p>He looked down at his hands and analyzed how the muscles moved with every twitch of his fingers. He took in the skin, the texture, the fact that they were his hands and how weird that was. Flesh that he'd been born with and metal made to protect him, both had been pinned, he had been pinned, he <em>was </em>pinned.</p><p>They really, really didn't feel like they belonged to him. He almost hadn't recognized them. </p><p>It felt like Tuckers touch was infecting him, coursing through his blood until he was feverish. Like the memories were blistered over his body, making him permanently tainted, scarred, never the same, never able to be okay- </p><p>"You sure you don't want anything specific?" Maes asked.</p><p>Ed sighed. "Doesn't matter anyways."</p><p>He honestly couldn't care less about what kind of food was on his plate right now. </p><p>Maes stared for a beat, then two, before he sighed and shook his head. "Alright." </p><p>But with the way Maes looked at him, he got the feeling he gave the wrong answer. </p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>The restaurant they went to was small, personal. It had smooth, tile floors and hard wood chairs. He stared out one of the large, arched windows and watched the people pass. Couples with children, a lady with her tiny dog, an old man.</p><p>There were barely any other customers. A tall waitress with big, curly hair asked him what he wanted. He ordered a strawberry milkshake. Content, he sipped at it as Maes babbled and Gracia smiled like every word he said was a love-song to her ears. </p><p>He’d honestly had his fill of crowds with the carolling and his social battery was running on zero, but he found himself making an exception. Because this was nice. It was really, really nice. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this at peace, even if foul memories ate at him every time he let his mind wander for too long. </p><p>It was almost scary, how nice it was. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He didn’t deserve this, did he?</p><p>The thought hit him like a punch to the gut and left him reeling like one, too. He’d waited and waited and waited for this day, used it as a way to keep pushing, to tell himself that he had something to look forward to, and now he was almost so focused on having a good time that it made it harder to enjoy himself. </p><p>Being at ease felt like such a foreign concept that it made his throat tight and his hands shake. It made his knee jiggle, his eyes dart, and his breath hitch because he was <em>waiting</em> for the catch. Waiting everything to go south. It was unnatural. It felt wrong. </p><p>And that was scary, because it meant being in Tucker’s house felt right. </p><p>He was just so used to it. Used to being trapped and terrified and angry. When he wasn’t, it was like he was missing something. People were smiling at him, giving him things in the name of Christmas cheer, and he just kept waiting for them to want something in return.</p><p>An eternity ago, Maes had talked to him about this. He’d said that not every debt had to be paid. That sometimes people did nice things just because they could. He'd said Ed was his <em>family</em>. And the word was spoken so easily, so smoothly, it had rolled off the man's tongue like it was the most natural thing in the world. </p><p>But one conversation didn’t mean Ed could believe that, not really, because Maes had been an exception. He was an outlier in the data. Ed hadn't become an alchemist to draw conclusions from outliers.</p><p>The Hughes family was one of the only good things in his life. Al, Nina, the Hughes’s. That was it. But the moment Ed hung on too tightly, someone in that group was going to crumble beneath his fingertips. He couldn’t get too attached. </p><p>And Ed felt bad for it. Really, really bad, but there were still split seconds where he still convinced himself that Maes was about to hit him, or yell at him, or try to have sex with him, too.</p><p>Ed almost wanted him to. </p><p>The thought slammed into him before he could stop it, and once it was there, he couldn't let it go. He <em>wanted</em> Maes to hurt him. He wanted the man to prove him right. He wanted to suffer, be damaged, agonize, feel betrayed. </p><p>How fucked up did he have to be, to prefer that sometimes? To prefer the threats and the sex and the wounds and the numbness? To crave it when it was missing? To want to be miserable as much as he wanted it to stop? The day Tucker had hit him had actually been the easiest. When the man talked down to him, called him a whore, threatened him, it felt right. Being beaten, spat at, and hurt he could deal with. The intentions are clear and easy to read. People who punch you don’t care about you. You don’t have to worry about them stabbing you in the back, because the knife’s already in your heart, and you watched it happen. </p><p>It was confusing when Tucker talked to him softly, kissed him like he cared, treated him nicely. It threw Ed off and made his feelings all muddled. He <em>knew</em> he was being manipulated. He knew it was some extra layer of control that the man was trying to have over him, because nobody is that kind unless they want something, but that didn’t stop the fact that it twisted him up inside. </p><p>The same applied to when Maes looked at him with furrowed eyebrows. How he stared at Ed with kindness, like he was worried, like he desired nothing more than to help. How Ed’s heart stopped as he saw that and he almost wished he <em>could</em> let the man help him. Wished he could let the pain, the confessions, the dirt spill from his lips and into the world faster than he could stop it. </p><p>He was already taking too much just being there. He still didn’t know what came over him, the day he asked Maes for his Christmas gift. Maybe it was because the man had been one of the first people to reach out to him. Maybe it was because Maes filled some weird emotional need and Ed’s attention-starved, pathetic, screwy brain ran with that.</p><p>Asking to come was a moment of misjudgement, weakness, he really shouldn’t have brought it up at all. A smart person would’ve seen the risk and stayed far away. A smart person would have brushed Maes off before they built more debts. </p><p>But a smart person also wouldn’t have let their step-father fuck them every other day, so he guessed he was just really, really stupid. </p><p>What else did he have to lose? His pride had been tattered the day he learned what sex was. It shrunk and shrunk until it wasn’t even there anymore. There wasn't any honor in the things he’d seen, done, felt. </p><p>He was growing weaker by the minute. He hated his life so much that his brain shut off and forced him to pretend he didn’t even exist. Who the fuck cared if he wanted a single day of peace, even when he hadn’t done much to deserve it? Who cared if he wanted to feel like somebody loved him? It wasn't like he was selling himself as a beacon of strength anyways.</p><p>The thought giving up and telling was alarmingly tempting. He could do it. He could open his mouth right there, in the middle of the diner, and he could spill every horrible detail into the world. Every disgusting thing that happened to him. He could pull the wool out from everyone’s eyes, and they could see him for everything he was, everything he’d done. And they would finally, finally leave, because they’d realize he was rotting from the inside out. He was putrid, he was roadkill that the vultures had long eaten.</p><p>But if he told, he’d have to see how Maes’s eyes would widen as he realized how vile he was, how fucking pitiful every inch of his being had become. If he knew, Maes would take it all back. He’d take every good thing back and stare right through every barrier, every wall that Ed had built to protect himself. The man would see the dishonesty. The lies. The pathetic, wretched child underneath the layers of confidence and intelligence. The man would know he was a whore. A stupid fucking <em>little whore</em> who’d been used and used and used and could never do anything right.</p><p>Really, the only reason he even got <em>adopted</em> was so he could be bent over a table and fucked until he was sore. Was he even good for anything else? Was there even a life he could build outside of that? Because it was really, really starting to feel like there wasn’t. </p><p>And it felt like everyone’s eyes were on him, all the time. Wanting to hurt him. Waiting to touch him. Listening for the perfect moment to strike. A hunter with his bow drawn, following a deer through the woods, and you could hear the snap of the drawstring before you felt the arrow in your heart, or saw the blood as it spilled onto the dirt below, or tasted the salt as you were pinned to a bed and-</p><p>- And someone whispered in his ear. There was breath against his lips, a tongue probing his mouth. It ran across his teeth, then deeper, harder, and it choked him. His eyes stung. It hurt and he couldn’t <em>breathe</em> -</p><p>- And everyone around him was still wanting, waiting, listening. Wanting, waiting, listening, wanting, waiting, listening, <em>wanting, wanting, wanting -</em></p><p>“Ed? Ed!”</p><p>His chest was on fire. He tried to inhale, but it didn’t come. There was a mouth on his and he couldn't breathe.</p><p>He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t <em>breathe</em>.</p><p>Someone put a hand on his shoulder and he screamed-</p><p>Or at least he thought he did. Now there was wind on his face, something hard against his back, and he was lying down. </p><p>Huh. Weird. </p><p>He sat up. The world spun around him, tilted, unreal, not quite right. Vertigo, he realized. Maybe low blood sugar, judging by the black spots that made his vision into a mockery of a vignette photo. It didn’t matter, though, because he still had no clue how he got there in the first place. His thoughts were static on a TV, prickles as your arm falls asleep, fuzzy clouds drifting overhead. He reached out to grab one before it shifted and went away completely.</p><p>He was on a bench. The grooves of the metal below dug into him as he sat. The wind rustled through a tree above him, fluttering withered leaves to the cold, concrete ground. A loose strand of hair whipped from his braid and caught on his lips. </p><p>“Brother?” Al asked. It was then that he realized that his brother and the Hughes’s were there, too, standing in front of him. Looming above, they stared down with wide eyes and knit eyebrows. </p><p>“Al?” His head was throbbing. He held it with a wince. “The fuck happened?”</p><p>“You had a panic attack, Ed,” Maes pushed his glasses back. “And then you passed out.”</p><p>That made sense, actually. </p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>Gracia was standing a few feet away, holding Elysia in her arms as she studied him. Her smile was warm, but it was tainted by concern and didn't reach her eyes. “Are you alright?” She asked. </p><p>Ed ran a shaking hand through his hair. “‘M fine, I just-”</p><p>“Ed, c’mon buddy,” Maes furrowed his eyebrows. “You need to tell us what’s up.”</p><p>“Nothing.”</p><p>“People don’t have panic attacks over ‘nothing’, kiddo."</p><p>“Well maybe I do.”</p><p>“Are you this worried about the test?” Maes asked. “You can take it next yea-”</p><p>“No!”</p><p>Everyone’s eyes snapped on him. Ed gulped and looked away.</p><p>“I mean-” Ed’s heart picked up. He fiddled with the hem of his jacket sleeve and sweat trickled down his neck, cool against his skin as the wind blew. Apparently his spike in anxiety was noticeable, because Maes put a hand on his shoulder, probably in an attempt to calm him down, but Ed’s eyes followed it on instinct. The touch burned and he had to resist the urge to shuck it off. “I mean- I-"</p><p>“Brother’s just been really stressed,” Al interrupted. “It’s a lot of pressure.”</p><p>Maes glanced to Al, and then back to him. The man was quiet, in thought, and then he sighed. “I think you should wait until the next batch of tests, Ed.”</p><p>Ed shook his head. No way. No fucking way was he staying in that house for longer than the next few days. He was getting his license, and then he was leaving. “Not an option.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“It’s just-” Ed took a deep breath. “Performance anxiety, y’know. That’s all. That’s it. Nothing else-”</p><p>He snapped his mouth shut with an audible click. He was probably overselling it, wasn’t he? </p><p>“Let’s drop it, okay?” Ed knew he was pleading, but the longer they talked about it, the worse he felt. “I’ll be fine in a few days. I honestly just need a distraction right now.”</p><p>"Ed," Mae's frowned. "Talk to us. We’re here for you." </p><p>Ed shook his head again. "I'm fine, really."</p><p>As Maes stared at him, he shifted beneath his gaze. His mouth was dry and the bite of the cool weather only made his blushing more noticeable. </p><p>Eventually Maes sighed and glanced away. "Alright, kiddo," he said. "Let's get a headstart on cooking, then. The last thing we want is to take you back late and have your stepfather think we’re trying to replace him or something," he smiled. It was teasing. Ed knew the man was joking, but it hit so close to home that he couldn’t help but to avert his gaze and swallow.</p><p>“Yeah,” Ed said. “I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>They arrived back at the Hughes's 30 minutes later. Chores were dished out in preparation for dinner. Al had gone with Maes to grab more Christmas lights, Elysia was sent to bed for her daily nap, and Ed was on cooking duty with Gracia. Ed made Alphonse swear he’d run if anything went south while Ed wasn’t there, and Al had made him do the same. It wasn’t the most polite promise to make, but as much as Ed liked the Hughes's, he was not taking any chances. </p><p>He stood in the middle of the kitchen, peeling potatoes into a small trash bag that hung limp over the sink. Gracia worked from the counter adjacent to him, separating egg yolks between two small, coloured bowls. </p><p>For a few minutes, there was comfortable silence- Or comfortable for Gracia, probably. Honestly it just made Ed restless. </p><p>He didn't like it when things were quiet for too long. It was awkward and made his thoughts too loud, too hard to ignore. They risked wandering to bad places, and he couldn't get away with any more stunts. He didn't want to get like he did at lunch again. He didn't remember a lot of what happened, but he could recall bits of his contemplations, and they were things he'd rather leave untouched. Too existential and negative for him. It was disturbing. He <em>realized</em> it was disturbing, and he hated it when he got like that.</p><p>Besides, if he had another panic attack, he got the feeling Maes would kidnap him and use his famous, military-grade interrogation skills until Ed broke and admitted everything. Which was becoming an increasingly tempting option, actually, because he did not feel like going home. </p><p>So he blurted out the first thing that came to mind, if only to fill the air with something other than himself.</p><p>“Sorry for screwing up lunch.”</p><p>Fuck. Probably not a great start, actually.</p><p>“Oh, honey,” Gracia sighed. “It’s alright. Nobody’s upset with you.”</p><p>Ed didn't believe her, but to her credit, she did sound very sincere. His tongue went limp in his mouth, absolutely useless as he tried to mentally piece together some way to make himself look less pathetic. He honestly didn't know how to respond to her.</p><p>“Y’know,” Gracia continued. “When I was younger, I got them too.”</p><p>“Got what?”</p><p>“Panic attacks.”</p><p>Ed snapped his head up and gaped. “But you're so <em>nice</em> and- and <em>calm</em>."</p><p>“That doesn't mean I can't get them," she chuckled. "It's a perfectly normal way to respond to stress."</p><p>"Oh."</p><p>He tossed another peel in the bag. It slid down the edge, becoming indistinguishable among the other skins, adding to the weight that was slowly making its plastic container droop. </p><p>The past few months had definitely been stressful, to say the least. The past few years, too. </p><p>Actually, his life had kinda been one big circus of horrible, starring his bad life decisions and unlucky circumstances, ever since Hohenhiem left. </p><p>He scowled at that thought and glanced over to Gracia, who cracked another egg. Her body was relaxed as she leaned on the counter. Her lips were tilted up in a smile and her hands worked with practiced ease. Everything about her was tranquil. She didn't seem distressed, or panicked, or maimed like he was. She seemed okay.</p><p>A mix between envy and respect coiled in his stomach.</p><p>“How’d you make it stop?" Ed asked. "The stress?” </p><p>She hummed. “I talked about it with someone,” she ran a yolk through her fingers as she spoke, and dropped it into the smaller bowl. “And I learned how to cope with it- But it never went away, not really.”</p><p>He swallowed around the growing lump in his throat. </p><p>“So I’m- I'm just gonna be like this for the rest of my life?” </p><p>The thought left him reeling and faintly nauseous. He had to get better. Maybe he deserved what was happening to him, but he had things he needed to do. Things he <em>wanted</em> to do. He didn't want to spend his life miserable and scared. He didn't want to hate himself. He did, but he didn’t. Not really.</p><p>“No," Her words interrupted his growing anxiety. She smiled. "You’ll get better, but you have to give yourself room to breathe and make mistakes first.”</p><p>Ed scoffed. “I don’t have room for mistakes, that’s the problem.”</p><p>“Honey,” Gracia sighed. “Life doesn’t care if you do. You’re never going to be constantly strong or constantly perfect. You’re going to learn, and evolve, and that’s beautiful.”</p><p>He ignored his stinging eyes by skinning his potato with newfound force, gripping it so hard it was a wonder it didn’t break. “Doesn’t feel beautiful.” </p><p>“Well, maybe not beautiful,” Gracia corrected. “It’s ugly, too. And painful, and cruel. And sometimes, it’s unnecessary, and you’re only hurt by it. But you have to remember that there’s always something better.”</p><p>Ed scoffed again. “That’s what everyone says.”</p><p>“Because it’s true,” Gracia sorted another egg and wiped her hands with a paper-towel, before discarding it as she turned to look at him. Her lips were upturned, but her eyebrows were furrowed, almost pained. “There <em>is </em>something better. You’re struggling right now, but people love you despite it.”</p><p>“I’m not struggling.”</p><p>Gracia gazed at him with a sheen to her eyes and a despairing smile. Her hands shook ever so slightly.</p><p>Why was she so upset over this?</p><p>“You’ve had to grow up quickly, Edward,” she glanced away and wiped her eyes with her forearm. “It hasn’t been fair on you. I’m sorry for that.”</p><p>“Complaining about it doesn’t fix anything,” he shrugged. “I’m the adult now. I’ve always been the adult, ever since-” he cut himself off. “Well, y’know.”</p><p>Gracia chuckled. “You’re not an adult, honey.”</p><p>“Kinda am.”</p><p>“You’re 12.”</p><p>“And?”</p><p>“And that’s an oxymoron. You can’t be twelve and be a grown-up.”</p><p>Ed grit his teeth. “Don’t patronize me.”</p><p>“I’m not,” Gracia huffed. “But somebody has to be honest with you, honey. You’re not an adult. Not yet. And you shouldn’t have to be.”</p><p>“Doesn’t matter if I should or shouldn’t. Al doesn’t have anybody else to take care of him.”</p><p>“You have your step-father, don’t you?”</p><p>Ed’s brain stopped for a moment. He stared down at the produce in his hands and tried to force words out from his throat before his stillness got suspicious.</p><p>“He doesn’t count.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>Why <em>not</em>? Because Tucker wasn’t his dad. He was heavy, threatening footsteps outside Ed’s door. Tucker was the soreness in his muscles, the way his heart raced when people touched him, the acid in his throat when he had a nightmare. Tucker was a knife that cut his will slowly, daily, until he was miserable and barely there. It diced and diced until he was in pieces and sobbing in the bathtub, silent in the bedroom, jumping when doors opened too quickly.</p><p>Tucker wasn’t his dad. He wasn’t even Hohenheim's glaring, furrowed eyebrows before he abandoned them with his face towards the door; His back far away from Ed and his mother and his brother, never to be seen again, never to be heard from again. </p><p>That would be preferable, actually. What he wouldn’t give to have Tucker be the one who left instead.</p><p>“Why do you think?” Ed asked.</p><p>“Well,” Gracia smiled. “I think that you two feel the need to take everything on by yourselves.”</p><p>“Yeah, and we handle it fine.”</p><p>“And you can tell yourself that,” Gracia shook her head lightly. “But keep my words in mind. They say with age comes wisdom for a reason, you know," Gracia chided. She sighed and glanced down at her hands stretched in front of her. "And I’m only getting older,” her lips pulled taut. </p><p>Ed rolled his eyes. “Thought you said growing and getting older was ‘part of life.’” He raised his fingers in air quotes, though his jab was made difficult with his hands preoccupied. </p><p>She stared at him with raised eyebrows, processing, and then she laughed. “I did, didn’t I?” She glanced away, a weathered smile on her lips. </p><p>He watched her in awe. She really did seem to just.. Have her life together. She was content, shining, like the sun on a fall day, melting through the chilly weather, but not burning. Even though she used to be like him. Even though she said she was <em>still</em> like him. She was happy, with a husband who loved her, a kid who she took care of, everything he'd always wanted in a family. As a child, and for himself in the future, when he got older and everything settled. </p><p>If he ever gets out of that fucking house. </p><p>The thought hit him, sudden and violent. He glared. </p><p>But really, what if he didn't?</p><p>“But there’s a lesson in this, right?" Ed found himself speaking without even realizing it. His hands shook as he peeled another potato. His mouth was dry and his eyes stung, but they stared onwards, past the point of seeing anything at all. "There’s a reason this is happening? Tell me why this is happening.”</p><p>Gracia frowned. “That what’s happening?”</p><p>He snapped back to attention. Shit. He hadn't meant to say that.</p><p>“Nothing, I just-” Ed sighed. “Nevermind. Thanks, Gracia.” </p><p>She smiled once more. “Of course, honey.” </p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>They had finished cooking and eaten within a few hours. It all kind of blended together, if Ed was being honest, but even that wasn’t as bad as usual. Presents came next. Ed had suggested getting something cool for the Hughes’s, like a paintball gun, but Al said that adults don’t like stuff like that. Which was stupid, in Ed’s opinion, because paintball guns were fun for everyone. In the end, they decided that candles were both in their budget and very mature presents. </p><p>Maes and Gracia had gotten them pre-bought train tickets for when they hit the road. Ed had to stop himself from crying.</p><p>It was physical, usable evidence that there were only three more days, and then they could travel the country as much as they wanted. They were going to <em>leave</em>. Mustang worked in East City. All of their check-ins would be there, and Ed wouldn't have to see Tucker for a long, long time. They wouldn’t have to be back for months. He could just avoid going to Central.</p><p>Even when Ed got home and had to deal with Tucker, he honestly couldn’t force himself to care. The man could go to hell, because they were getting the fuck out. They were going to get leads from Mustang, travel, do stupid military buisness, and live their life. It had been months since he’d had that much freedom.</p><p>The test was coming up. They were going to show up, nail it, get their licenses, and they were going to finally escape. They would have income. They wouldn’t need a place to live, or Tucker’s resources, or anything from the man at all. He wouldn’t have any power over them-</p><p>Well, except for the fact that he still knew their secret. </p><p>And he was still their legal guardian.</p><p>And he was still fucking <em>terrifying</em>.</p><p>And would he even <em>let</em> them leave?</p><p>There was a chance he wouldn’t. Ed kind of doubted he would let them go, honestly, and there was the issue of who was going to look after Nina while they were away. Tucker didn’t treat her like he treated him, but who’s to say he wouldn’t when she got older? Or to get back at Ed for leaving? Or just because he felt like it? If she was hurt, it would be Ed’s fault for not being there to take it in her stead.</p><p>It felt like he’d never get out of there. The thought made his stomach churn. He wanted to scream and thrash until the very concept of it went away forever, as if letting go completely would be enough to rid himself of the pain.</p><p>Was this going to be the rest of his life? Sitting in his room, playing house, fucking up his brother more and more every time he woke up crying, or spaced out, or went with Tucker? Was there <em>really</em> nothing else? Was his peak just big dreams and getting fucked every night by his step-father?</p><p>Fucked. Now that’s a nasty word. When he was little, he’d use it all the time with no context of what it actually implied. He’d say it because his mom said it to convey an emotion, because the adults did, because he needed to be an adult. He’d drop the word and drop it and drop it with no clue, and that was kind of hilarious, looking back, because he really <em>was</em> too young. He was probably too young to be there, too.</p><p>
  <em>"You can't be twelve and be a grown-up."</em>
</p><p>Gracia's words came back to him, and for the first time in his life, he really did feel too young for this. Too young to have sex, too young be this worn out, too young to <em>fucking</em> be there. Too young to use that word.</p><p>It was a soul-deep, hollow sort of exhaustion, like every inch of him had been used and beaten until it was black like the night sky. Like every bone in his body had been ground into dust. It was aching, it was horrible, and a part of him wished someone would knock him over the head so he’d be comatose until it was all over. He wanted to wake up in a hospital as a John Doe and start everything anew. He didn’t want to be himself anymore. He wanted to move on from this, never see Tucker again, never think of any of this again, and not look back.</p><p>He thought about the stories he’d read, all those months ago, about the rape victims. How he’d tried, desperately, to relate to them. How they’d preach about PTSD and how they’d talk about self-blame. The after effects, they’d call it. Symptoms of abuse. </p><p>Abuse was also a nasty word. A nasty concept. It leaves a nasty bruise. Kind of like the hickeys on his body, right now. He rolled the word around in his mind, played with it-</p><p>But it just didn’t stick. Because stuff like that didn’t happen to people like him. It wasn’t <em>supposed</em> to happen to him, he was supposed to be better than this. Rape doesn’t happen to boys, strong people don’t let themselves be abused. </p><p>So did that make him weak, or did that make this okay? Was any of this okay? Was <em>he</em> okay? Because he kept spacing out, forgetting things, being paranoid, having panic attacks, and he honestly felt like he was going crazy.</p><p>And maybe Al was right, when he’d said he couldn’t keep this up forever, because it was really starting to feel like he couldn’t.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>It hadn’t taken Maes more than a minute to tell Ed and Al were off. </p><p>Ed was subdued, his usual energy almost non-existent. He'd always been a chatterbox, bouncing off the walls, an unstoppable force that couldn't be pinned down nor controlled. But recently, he’d been getting continuously more withdrawn. His eye bags were way too pronounced for somebody his age, he was unusually defensive, and when he wasn’t spacing out, he was skittish. Skittish was not supposed to be a word that you used to describe Edward Elric.</p><p>Alphonse was overpolite, even for him. The few times he spoke, he seemed like he was walking on eggshells with every word he said, desperately trying not to offend anybody or say the wrong thing. He was harder to notice a difference in, but also more disturbing. Al wasn't prone to sporadic moods in the same way Ed was. They both felt wrong on a fundamental, deep level, and Maes was itching to figure out what was up. He was in investigations for a reason, what could he say?</p><p>He’d tried asking indirectly, directly, even separating them and probing them for answers then, but they still wouldn’t give. He figured it made sense. He was a pre-teen once, he got how their brains worked, and the Elrics were particularly independent. He knew them well enough to realize that whatever was happening, they probably wouldn’t want to burden him with. They were going to take it upon themselves to deal with it without any help. </p><p>But that didn’t mean he wouldn't keep an eye on them. So the second he dropped them off, he traded information with Gracia on her conversation with Ed. And when they got home, he called up his best friend. </p><p>The house was silent aside from the occasional car that passed outside and their upstairs neighbor's footsteps. The phone rang, rang, rang for thirty seconds. Maes was about to hang up and try calling again when the line went through. </p><p>“Hughes,” Roy answered, the word was slightly slurred and his voice was thick with the phone's static. Maes knit his eyebrows. The man had definitely been drinking. “Why’re you calling?” </p><p>“Well merry Christmas to you too, Roy.”</p><p>Roy sighed. “Yeah, merry Christmas,” Maes could feel his eye roll from the other line. “What’d your daughter do this time that you just <em>had</em> to tell me about?”</p><p>“Well she was super adorable, as always, but she’s not why I’m calling.”</p><p>“Well that’s a change of pace. What is it?”</p><p>“The Elrics.”</p><p>Roy paused before he let out an exacerbated breath of air. “What’d they do this time?”</p><p>“Nothing, yet,” Maes chuckled. “But I need you to keep an eye on them for me when they get to East City. They’re acting weird.”</p><p>“They <em>are</em> weird. That’s not a reason to call me.”</p><p>Maes furrowed his eyebrows. “Ed had a panic attack at lunch and passed out.”</p><p>There was silence for a moment.</p><p>“Well,” Roy paused. “That doesn’t sound like him.”</p><p>"Yeah,” Maes tugged on the phone cord absentmindedly as he spoke. It was round and coated in plastic, smooth between his fingers. “He said it's because of the test, but he’s been off for a few weeks. I think he's depressed."</p><p>"He's not depressed, Maes. I’d know. That kid’s a fire-cracker."</p><p>"He just seems so apathetic," Maes thought about how tired the boy had looked. How even when Maes would provoke him, or tease him, it felt like his reactions were forced. Like he was being weighed down by a million different problems, pinned like a butterfly beginning to go limp. "I've never seen him like this before. It's like he doesn't care about anything. He kept spacing out." </p><p>"And you're sure it's not just.. Regular teenager stuff?"</p><p>"Positive."</p><p>Roy was silent as he mulled over Maes’s words.</p><p>"I'm not any good at this,” Roy huffed. “Even if I asked, I think he hates me too much to say what’s wrong.”</p><p>Maes snickered. "He doesn't hate you, Roy. That’s just how he is.”</p><p>"I'm pretty sure he does."</p><p>"Well just keep an eye on him, okay? You'll understand when you see them."</p><p>Roy sighed. "Alright, whatever you say. I gotta go, though. Hawkeye’s looking at me funny.”</p><p>“You’re working on Christmas?”</p><p>“No, but that doesn’t stop her judgement, the crazy woman-" There was shuffling on the other line. “She’s pointing her gun at me. I didn’t mean that.”</p><p>“Alright, don’t die,” Maes laughed. “Bye then.”</p><p>“Bye.”</p><p>The line clicked as Maes hung up the phone. He took a deep breath in and leaned his forehead against the wall. The surface was cool, grounding. It helped him sort his thoughts a little better. </p><p>He closed his eyes and went over everything he knew about the brothers, every word they’d said, every detail he’d picked up. Al’s concerningly well-mannered demeanor, the way Ed’s eyes kept glazing over, how weird both of them were about letting the other out of their sight. He still couldn’t figure out what was making them act like this. And the longer he thought about it, the more worried he got.</p><p>“Maes,” Gracia called from the other room. “I’m heading to bed.”</p><p>“Alright,” He sighed. “I’ll be there in a moment.”</p><p>He just wished they’d tell him what was wrong</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Trigger warning for victim blaming, graphic depictions of rape, child porn, and pedophilic thoughts.  </p><p>I'm going to keep it real with you guys: The intro to this chapter is from Tucker's perspective and it's very, very gross. I went back and forth on including a POV section from him for a long time. I didn't want to give more screen-time to an abuser than necessary, simply because this isn't a story about an abuser. It's a story about a victim. </p><p>I only decided to keep it in because I think seeing some of his motivations and thought processes are important to the plot. I didn't want to sugar coat any of his character or what's happening here, because it's disturbing and it's meant to be that way, so some of the topics are naturally pretty graphic. I do not agree with any of what he says or thinks for obvious reasons. If you want to skip this section, I 100% understand why, and I'll explain briefly what happens in the footnote to the best of my ability.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He looked so good like this.</p><p>Edward Elric, the child prodigy, the little bundle of determination, his step-son, his golden, radiant child. Edward and his tiny body, his deep breaths, his amber eyes. Glazed over and yet they still had that <em> life. </em> Always growing, always moving, unquantifiable energy in human form. Unable to be tamed, unable to be pinned-</p><p>Well, except by him. Shou would get to watch that sharp, sassy exterior come undone for an hour or two. He’d get to hear the boy mutter elements under his breath, how he’d whimper, how his nose would crinkle as he came. It was absolutely fascinating every time. All the little reactions he could fish out, all of the different ways he could make the boy gasp. He was enthralled, what could he say?</p><p>Alphonse was an entirely different matter. Shou would have really preferred him to stay ignorant. He’d enjoyed the extra company for a while, although part of why he was so kind to the younger was to have more control over the situation. More control over Edward. </p><p>He didn’t appreciate being punched in the face, though. He’d been tempted to make good on his threat then, but he’d quickly decided against it. He really didn’t want to have to hurt either of the brothers unless it was necessary. He’d much rather everyone get along. </p><p>He’d been harsher with the boys at times than he should’ve been, he recognized that. Edward had tested his patience and Shou’s hand had been forced. He had to retaliate. He didn’t want to have to hit Ed, or spank him, or threaten him. It was simply the only way to make him behave. If you spare the rod you spoil the child, afterall. </p><p>Well, maybe that wasn’t completely true. A part of him did enjoy it. He enjoyed the control he had, the power he got to wield. The fact that it was him, specifically, who could invoke so much fear. He didn’t want to hurt Edward, not necessarily, but he did relish in the way he could make him squirm. It’s only human, to savor in the ability you have to command others. To want to dominate the vitality, the life itself that comes from sex. To do things simply because you have the ability to, because you feel like it, because you’re curious.</p><p>He knew what he was doing was immoral, disgusting, the lowest of low. Sometimes he almost felt guilty for it. But then he saw it, how absolutely fascinating it could be to harm somebody in such a deep, personal way. And it felt good, too, he wasn't going to lie and say lust wasn't a part of it. Edward specifically had been such an interesting case. He still held on with every ounce of strength he could muster, even when Shou got rougher with him. He still talked back, sometimes, even though he knew the consequences. He still fought.</p><p>Edward’s insolence was part of the charm, part of what drew Shou in. Everything about him was boundless, intelligent energy, beautiful and raw. He didn’t hide himself like other people so often did. He just <em> was. </em>And that was truly captivating. And Shou knew he wanted to see how far he could push, pull, tear, sink his teeth into that before it was enough. </p><p>The boy had been so innocent, too, despite everything. Shou doubted he even realized what he was agreeing to. That was also part of the charm. Children are so naive, so trusting, so small, and yet they refuse to admit it. To accept that they are, in fact, kids. They want to grow up. They want to see the world.</p><p>There’s something so powerful about being somebody’s first. Knowing that you’ll shape them and their experiences for the rest of their life. Knowing that no matter where they go, you’ll be marked upon them in memory, sometimes even physically, or emotionally. There’s something powerful about being a child’s first, too. They really do have no clue about what's happening. You get to see them shift, watch the change from naive trust to confusion to grim understanding. You get to pick the petals off their flower, day by day, observe them as they break, feel the rush that comes with that. </p><p>It's quite a fascinating thing, the loss of purity.</p><p>He cared about Edward, he really did. He wanted to see the boy succeed. He had so much raw talent, so much potential, so much determination. It was uncanny, really. Unfair even. It almost made Shou jealous, because even as obstacle after obstacle came his way, he still stayed standing. </p><p>And Shou just couldn’t resist. That was kind of how the whole thing started in the first place. He’d seen Edward, standing on the porch, an awkward smile on his face, tight leather pants, and he’d known in that moment that he’d be weak for him. He was so vulnerable, too, despite being such a little pain in the ass, despite how much he thrashed and fought. Shou knew that he’d have no support system outside of his brother, not a real one he could trust, at least. He knew the boy would never tell. </p><p>He'd never done this sort of thing before, though he'd thought about it many times. He'd figured isolation was a good way to keep Edward silent, and it had worked rather well, in his opinion. Ed had no family aside from Alphonse and he had few friends. Everything had just lined up so well, almost effortlessly, it had been so easy to take advantage of him. It had almost been boring. Meant to be, maybe, but dull at times.</p><p>When Edward had made his first mistake, it was his job as his parent to punish him for it. And if he just so happened to get some enjoyment out of it as well, then that was simply a mutually beneficial experience.</p><p>And when he’d come to him again, begging to stay, wanting to prove himself, of course he obliged. Shou had never planned on kicking Edward out in the first place, that would be cruel, but their agreement meant they could both get what they wanted. A chance to study a specimen further and peace of mind. It was a win-win situation.</p><p>It was a compelling thing, to be the cause of those wide eyes, the way Edward’s lip had quivered, how soft his voice had been when he agreed to have sex. How he had turned his head, averted his gaze, stared at the wall as he flushed and writhed. Everything about it was enthralling. </p><p>Edward’s gaze was blazing the whole time. He’d narrowed his eyes and scowled with such enragement that Shou might’ve found it threatening, if he hadn’t realized what a little whore the boy was by then. </p><p>Because as much as he glared and spat and talked back, Shou could tell he enjoyed it. The body doesn't lie, after all. Even if he hated Shou, or he thought he didn't want it, he was very reactive. He was simply afraid to let himself admit it.</p><p>Shou wished he would, if he was being honest. It would probably make the whole situation easier for the both of them.</p><p>Shou could still hear the first time the boy had made a sound, if he closed his eyes and listened long enough. It was a fleeting noise, one of surprise, the most tender of ‘ah’s. It had rolled off Ed's tongue without warning. He looked so embarrassed afterwards, too. As if giving into something so natural was something to be ashamed of. </p><p>Unfortunately, Edward’s upcoming state test meant physicals within the next few days. He probably should’ve gone easier on him starting a week ago, but who could really blame him, with the way the boy walked around the house? How he punched his way through life like nothing, nobody could stop him? He was begging to be put in his place. </p><p>And he was so much more skittish, now, always hiding in his room. Shou barely got to see him anymore. He’d wanted some time alone with him.</p><p>The feeling of a mouth against his dick was enough to snap him back to the present. A tongue teased his tip, wet and rich, and he guessed Edward might just be a prodigy afterall. </p><p>“Take it in already,” Shou said.</p><p>Edward obliged, making quick work of him as Shou rooted his fingers in the soft, golden locks that adorned the boy’s crown. </p><p>He picked up his pace, far too fast for Shou’s liking. Shou furrowed his eyebrows. Edward always seemed to want to get everything over as swiftly as he could. He’d been getting better about doing things properly as time went on, but he was still prone to jumping into it too rapidly if he wasn't corrected.</p><p>“Slow down.”</p><p>Another bout of immediate obedience. Edward let his movement come to a stopping point and he licked the shaft, just the way he’d been taught. Shou threw his head back as a smile ghosted his lips.</p><p>“Good boy," he tightened his grip on the hair and pulled Edward’s head forward. He gagged as his length went in deeper. It was adorable, really. There was still slight room for improvement in his skills and that made it all the better.</p><p>Shou tried to draw it out as much as possible, but it wasn’t long until he was finished. He’d decided to keep today rather simple, as there was no guarantee the hickeys would fade fast enough for Ed’s physical if he wasn’t careful. Having people become suspicious or find out would mean the end of the relationship. He’d already accepted prison as a possibility, when this had begun, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be cautious where he could. </p><p>He sorted through his table side drawer and took out his camera. Edward didn’t react, even when he started taking pictures to document this particular experiment.</p><p>Ed used to get so angry when he did this. He’d glare, refuse to sit still, cover his face, all while spitting some nasty choice words. It had been both endearing and enraging. </p><p>Now he didn’t seem to register what was happening at all. That was also both endearing and enraging. Shou almost missed the blatant disrespect, sometimes. Perhaps that was why he’d given in when Edward had talked back to him on Christmas. It had been the most alive he’d seen the boy in a while. </p><p>Occasionally, if he said the right thing or hit the right nerve, Edward would come back in spurts. He was very, very rude at times and had little filter, in Shou’s opinion, although they were working on that. </p><p>He snapped another photo. Edward still wouldn’t look at him. He was so dull, lifeless. It was almost boring. He was sprawled out on the bed, his hand gripped lightly around the sheet, his mouth drawn in a soft line, like he was barely hanging onto a front of annoyance. </p><p>Maybe the boy just needed something to do in order to stay grounded. </p><p>“Touch yourself,” Shou said.</p><p>Shou’s request worked, apparently, because Edward’s eyes gained a sudden clarity. His lips grew tighter, his eyebrows more knit, his grip on the sheet more forceful.</p><p>“Why?” Edward asked. </p><p>“Because I said so. Now do it.”</p><p>Edward sighed and did as Shou said with little enthusiasm. He wasn’t even hard. That was kind of annoying, actually. </p><p>“Why are you being difficult?” He furrowed his eyebrows.</p><p>“I’m not.”</p><p>“Don’t lie to me, Edward. I’m not stupid.”</p><p>“I’m not lying!” Ed huffed. “You told me to touch myself, my hand’s on my dick, what else do you want?”</p><p>“For you to enjoy it.”<br/><br/>“Well I <em> don’t </em> enjoy it,” he snapped. </p><p>Shou sighed. “Yes you do, Edward.”</p><p>“No, I don’t! Stop talking to me," he turned away and curled his arms around one of the spare pillows, before burying his face into it. His hair cascaded down his back and into the sheets, neatly brushed, a golden waterfall that contrasted against the dark blue linen. He looked so small. Hunched shoulders, folded knees, neck tucked inwards, like he was trying to shrink until he wasn’t even there anymore.</p><p>Shou watched the boys chest rise and fall for a few moments, and then he sighed. Edward was never easy to deal with when he got into these moods.</p><p>“Don’t tell me what to do in my room,” Shou crossed his arms.</p><p>“No. Leave me alone," his voice was muffled by the pillow. </p><p>Shou took everything he thought back, in that moment. He definitely preferred the boy when he was spacing out. At least he wasn't so insolent.</p><p>There was silence for a few seconds, and then Edward spoke. His voice was soft, hesitant, like he was testing the waters with every syllable, like he was afraid of his own words.</p><p>“We’re going to leave soon.” </p><p>Shou had known brother’s departure was coming, but he hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly. He wanted to see if they could achieve their goal, if they were even capable of it, and yet he also wanted them with him. The house would be lonely without the extra company. The only reason they were here in the first place was to get their bodies back, though. He wasn’t naive enough to think he could stop them, even if he tried. He knew how scientific minds worked. They’d do what they had to to get what they want regardless.</p><p>“I know,” Shou said.</p><p>“You can’t stop us.”</p><p>“I wasn’t planning on it.”</p><p>“Good,” he let out a shallow, shaky breath. His shoulders unfurled, just a little, although he was still tense.</p><p>Shou set the camera down on his bedside table, taking the time to sort the pictures and place them within the drawer. His footsteps were light as he walked to where Edward had curled into himself. He sat down next to him and ran his fingers through the boy's hair, feeling the texture of the strands, appreciating how he shivered in response. Ed shied away from the touch, to the edge of the bed, although he stopped when his body was one prod away from falling.</p><p>“Will you at least come visit?” He asked. His hand traveled from the scalp and to the locks below, teasing it, stroking it gently, showing that he cared. It was soft beneath his fingertips, as it often was. Edward’s neck lit up in goosebumps.</p><p>“I don’t know," Ed sounded sincere, almost regretful. </p><p>Shou sighed and glanced away. “And I’m guessing there’s no way you’re going to stay, even if I asked?”<br/><br/>Ed scoffed. “Fuck no.”</p><p>“Why do you want to leave me so badly, Edward?” Shou twirled a strand around his fingers and frowned. “I’ve been kind to you.”</p><p>The boy didn’t respond, choosing instead to curl further into the pillow, further away from Shou’s touch, even if by only a few centimeters. </p><p>He frowned. Edward had been getting less and less reactive lately. It was as if all of the energy had been zapped from his body. It made him easier to deal with, but it also made him less fun. </p><p>“You did this to her too, didn’t you?” Edward asked after a moment. “Your wife. That’s why she left.”</p><p>Shou frowned. “My relationship with my wife isn’t any of your business.”</p><p> “I used to judge her for it, you know," his voice was hoarse, almost weak enough to be a whisper. "For leaving Nina behind, for making you a single parent. Not anymore.”</p><p>Shou raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”</p><p>“Because I would’ve left too,” Ed chuckled bitterly, before his breath caught and his shoulders hunched. “I <em> am </em>leaving. I’m just as bad as her, just as bad as the bastard,” he swallowed. “I’m a horrible person.”</p><p>"Edward," Shou frowned. "If you feel so horrible, then why don't you stay?"</p><p>"Because I can't keep doing this," he hugged the pillow harder, until the fabric was gripped so tightly in his hands it was a wonder it had yet to tear. "I'm going crazy. I can't take it anymore."</p><p>Shou sighed and shook his head. "You're not crazy, Edward."</p><p>The boy was still, and then his shoulders began to tremble, like he was physically holding in sobs. </p><p>Actually, Shou noticed that Edward <em> was </em> sobbing. How interesting. It was a rare occurrence, he'd only seen it once before. </p><p>"I-I’m so tired," Ed choked out. "I'm so goddamn tired." </p><p>"You can't take a break, though," Shou frowned. "You have goals, don't you?"</p><p>"Stop it," Ed whispered.</p><p>"Stop what?"</p><p>"Acting like you care." </p><p>Shou sighed and leaned down to kiss the boy's shoulder. It was soft beneath his lips. Edward didn't flinch, this time, though he did take a shaky breath in.</p><p>"We'll rest for today, alright?" Shou said, allowing his breath to tickle Edward’s back. The boy shivered in response. When Shou glanced over his body, he noticed the damp patches that decorated the pillow he was holding. It was alluring, to get to see him showing so much emotion. Shou questioned if he really might be breaking. </p><p>“You've done well,” Shou planted another kiss. “But if you leave, nobody will care about you like I do. Just remember that.”</p><p>Shou wondered if there was another way to get Ed to stay. He wondered what it would take, if he could do it, how hard it would be. He wondered if he should even consider what he was considering. But curiosity always outweighs risk, doesn't it?</p><p>Edward still wouldn't look at him. </p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Ed came out of that room an hour later with a familiar sense of disgust and a plan. He was going to find Nina's mother, and he was going to make her come get her goddamn kid.</p><p>Because maybe Nina was his responsibility, but he couldn't stay. He was losing his grip and if he kept this up any longer, something was going to give.</p><p>Leaving left the option of either kidnapping Nina or getting someone else to look after her. </p><p>He'd debated kidnapping, for a moment, before brushing it aside. Nina needed- no, deserved stability. Gracia was right, Ed wasn't an adult. He may have raised himself and his brother, but he'd done a pretty shit job. They'd be traveling too often, and they'd be on the run if they were to take her with them. It simply wasn't an option. </p><p>No, she needed a mother, and he was going to get her one. </p><p>He was curled in his bed, Alexander sat next to him. The dog almost took up enough space to push him off completely. Ed scratched at his ears absentmindedly, feeling the smooth texture of the fur, running his hand down the animal’s back, as he flipped through file after file. Everything he could find at the library’s public records. </p><p>Apparently, Nina’s mother’s maiden name was Lillian Alcott. He liked the ring to that more than Mrs. Tucker.</p><p>But even as he searched and searched, it seemed like she’d disappeared completely. He couldn’t find a single instance of her in public records. It was like she had completely stopped existing after she got married to Tucker. He figured she went off the grid to escape. </p><p>He just wished she would’ve had the sense to take her daughter with her. She left Nina to the wolves, completely alone, to fend for herself. That wasn’t fair. </p><p>Ed was almost thankful, sometimes, that this happened to him, because it was better him than someone else. Better him than Nina. Better him than any of the other kids who played out in the neighborhood, who lived homeless on the streets, who were stuck in foster care. Sometimes he wondered if he was the only person the man had targeted. </p><p>Sometimes he wondered if there would be more after him.</p><p>Ed's stomach twisted at the thought. It would be his fault, wouldn't it? For not reporting him? </p><p>Ed knew what was happening was illegal. He’d known the day he scoured over books in that library, and read the word ‘pedophile’ next to ‘rape’. His mother used to warn him about going with strangers who offered him candy at parks, about old men in white vans who would nab him and take him to unknown locations. </p><p>But the offenders in those tales were always a distant concept. They didn’t have faces or names Ed could draw a parallel to, they targeted at random. Every person they hurt was just another victim, just another child.</p><p>They weren’t supposed to be people he trusted. They weren’t supposed to be people meant to love him, take care of him, protect him. And maybe he didn’t need those things, when he arrived at Tucker’s house for the first time, but he was pretty sure it was still in the job description for a step-father. Ed hadn’t wanted help, but it would’ve been nice to have been offered it. </p><p>It would’ve been nice to stay innocent, just a little longer. He missed it.</p><p>He finished sorting through the files. Still not a single solid lead. He kept looking, though, because Nina deserved it.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>It had been a day since Ed had passed the written exam. </p><p>Al had been forced to drop out of the test thanks to the physical.</p><p>The physical, which was mandatory for Ed to take. </p><p>The physical, which involved stripping and letting a stranger, an <em> adult</em>, touch him. </p><p>He knew, logically, that he was making a big deal out of nothing. Doctors were medical professionals and nothing else. Hell, he'd had physicals before and it was <em> fine. </em>Nothing happened.</p><p>But sitting there, driving to the physician, his anxiety sending waves of nausea through him, his mouth a desert, made him suspect he might not be able to do this after all. The anticipation was water heavy in his lungs and he was drowning in the silence. He could barely breathe without feeling choked, without feeling the need to cough his insides out, as if that could expel all of the disgusting baggage he held tight to his chest.</p><p>"You remember what you're going to tell them, right?" Tucker asked. His eyes were focused on the road, and the question was dropped so nonchalantly that Ed could almost forget how horrible the topic actually was.</p><p>"If they suggest I'm sexually active, I tell them I have a boyfriend my age," Ed grumbled. </p><p>"Very good." </p><p>Ed crossed his arms and took a deep breath. Tucker had helped him hide the remnants of the hickeys with some makeup and bio-alchemy to speed the healing process up. They were no longer visible now. Ed was more disappointed in that than he probably should've been. </p><p>He'd almost hoped somebody would notice the signs. Joke was on him, really. He was taking this to his grave at this rate. Nobody would ever know. Well, except Al.</p><p>That was as relieving as it was horrible. Tucker was going to keep living his life. Not a single person would ever be aware of what the man had done. How he'd made Ed's existence hell for the past three months, or the fact that he was probably going to continue doing that the moment he got the chance. </p><p>Tucker had just been waiting, hadn’t he? Waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And when Ed sat down, and he looked back at every interaction they’d had, he couldn’t help but to feel disgusted. All the things the man said, how he mentioned how mature Ed seemed, how his eyes lingered for a second too long.</p><p>Ed wondered what Tucker had seen, when he stared at him. Someone he could take advantage of, who'd be too weak to fight back? Just something to stick his dick in? Did he even think of him as a person? As a child, as his step-son? Did he even feel bad for what he was about to do? Or did Tucker see the automail, the lean muscle, the long hair, his clothes. Was it something physical? Could he have avoided this if he just looked less appealing?</p><p>Ed had been a fish biting a hook, already hurtling towards the air above before he’d even realized it, already having his belly slit, bleeding out before he could get his bearings completely. Tucker had to have known what he was doing. He'd planned this, hadn't he? The man had laid his eyes on him for the first time, saw how much he cared about his brother, saw how easy to isolate he'd be, and he leaned him over and hit him with a belt the first chance he'd gotten.</p><p>Tucker had touched him the first day he’d arrived. His automail had been acting up, and he touched his port without permission. Why hadn’t he done something then? Why did he ever let it get this far? He should've known better. He should've left earlier. He never should've agreed to move in, he hadn't even wanted to. He should've put his foot down and demanded to be treated like an adult, if the military was going to add him to their ranks like one.</p><p>It was better him than someone else, but he should've been smarter. He shouldn't have ever told Tucker about their quest to get their bodies back. He shouldn't have ever given the man the opportunity to do this.</p><p>There were so many things he should've done better.</p><p>The car came to a stop and snapped him out of his thoughts. Ed swallowed. He really, really did not want to do this. </p><p>He unbuckled himself and stepped out of the car. All of his movements felt programmed, fake. Like flesh had been completely replaced by metal and gears, coated in plastic, and even his automail felt off, wrong, heavy. Everything was detached and unreal, his body not quite his. The sensation wasn’t necessarily fun, but it didn’t throw him off like it used to, even as walked towards the entrance, each step feeling less like him than the last. His heart hammered above the sound of people passing. The pool of dread in his stomach was big enough to feel like a black hole. It sucked in every sound, sight, sensation, and turned it into panic. </p><p>He couldn’t believe he was this nervous about seeing a doctor. He’d spent months in surgery, he’d grown up with the Rockbell’s, he'd done shit like this his entire life. There was no reason for him to be so tense. </p><p>Tucker opened the door for him and they stepped inside. The office was sparse, professional. White walls and linoleum floors, freshly cleaned, not a speck of dirt in sight. The well-put together nature of the place threw him off. It was so indifferent, so ordinary. So unlike the adrenaline that coursed through him, trying to make him panic, screaming that he was about to die.</p><p>The waiting room was mostly empty. A child and parent here. An old woman there. Ed glanced from person to person and tried to convince himself he was safe as long as there were witnesses. </p><p>It worked, sort of.</p><p>They waited for fifteen minutes before a doctor came out, clipboard in hand, and called his name. Fifteen minutes of agitation for him, and fifteen minutes of apathy from Tucker. The entire time, the man just sat there, his hands clasped in his lap, looking bored. His eyes darted around the room non-nonchalantly and he seemed like he couldn't care less that they were there.</p><p>The physician was an older woman, somewhere in her forties, if Ed had to guess. She had a big nose and round features. She smiled at him. He smiled back, because that’s what you’re supposed to do, and he was afraid that if he gave even the smallest hint something was off, everything would come crashing down. She seemed nice enough, but he was mostly just thankful he wouldn’t be seeing a man.</p><p>Ed followed the doctor further into the office and in through an entrance that adjourned the waiting room. Tucker trailed shortly behind him, and Ed pretended that didn’t bother him. He squeezed and unsqueezed his hand into a tight ball, tried to think more about the sensation of fingernails ripping at skin than the fact he was vulnerable.</p><p>He hated having his back to Tucker. At any second, the man could pounce and he wouldn’t know it was coming, he couldn’t prepare himself. It made him feel out of control, even more so than usual. He couldn’t see the threatening movements, the micro expressions, he couldn’t watch the man's hands, predict what was going to happen. There was no way to convince himself he was safe. </p><p>And really, the saddest part of the whole situation was that Ed knew he could take Tucker in a fight. But he didn’t. He just let it happen. He just let the man do anything he wanted, say anything he wanted, touch him any way he wanted. </p><p>Teacher would be disappointed, probably. He left himself open more often than not these days.</p><p>Ed glanced to the other rooms they walked, each the same width away from each other, each with their own number. Some with closed doors, others with patients getting their vitals checked, or personnel writing, looking at charts. He swallowed the lump in his throat and turned his gaze forward, trying his best to tune into the static in his brain, if only to feel a bit less jumpy.</p><p>They stopped when they hit the end of the hall. There was a scale and a stadiometer. Ed’s stomach sank just a little more. </p><p>Of course they were going to measure him. </p><p>“Alright, if you’ll stand there for me, please,” the doctor motioned to the scale. </p><p>She took his weight and then his height. He was tempted to protest, to say that wouldn’t be necessary, but if swallowing his pride and having a medical professional tell him he was… The S word was what it took to get his certification, he was going to do it.</p><p>She read it aloud, 4’11. He didn’t argue. He wasn’t sure if that made him mature, or just desperate.</p><p>That didn’t mean he wasn’t pissed off, though. By the time they made it into one of the patient rooms, he was a dangerous mix between fuming and distressed. Tucker was still there. The doctor said something about needing a guardian present. Ed laughed a bit, internally, because Tucker had done anything but guard him.</p><p>He took a seat on the table. It was cold beneath him, but also soft. Familiar. The same as any other table at any other hospital, and he could almost pretend he was any other person, going in for a normal check-up.</p><p> He glanced around the room and took note of the window beside him, easy to break with his automail if he needed. The door. It was a short distance away, he could sprint there in under a second. The walls were thin, if he screamed, someone was sure to come. It was a fairly safe space to be in. He felt the tightness in his throat dissipate, just a little bit.</p><p>He didn’t like hospitals, not at all, and they took him back to the days of his automail surgery. Back to the patient room of the Rockbell home, the smell of antiseptic, the feeling of metal drilling into bone. Not his best memories, but definitely not his worst. He almost missed it, sometimes. Everything was so simple. So clear. The sheer pain had been enough to make him forget about how shit of a brother he was, his own creation, and the fact he was down two limbs in the first place, just for a bit. </p><p>It was enough to make him forget he was there at all. </p><p>Ed guessed he might have always been an escapist, on some level. He buried himself in alchemy instead of dealing with the death of his mother. He looked at walls when he was having sex. He lost time when things got too stressful. </p><p>He watched his feet swing back and forth, far above the white linoleum tile, as he waited. The doctor stood at the other end of the room and wrote something on her clipboard. Tucker read a magazine in the seat across from him. He really wished they would both stay far, far away.</p><p>The physician placed her pen behind her ear and rifled through one of the cabinets, before pulling out a few tools for vitals that he couldn’t recall the medical names for. He kept an eye on her hands, her face, looking for any sign that something was amiss. </p><p>He pulled up his sleeve and let the physician take his blood pressure. The constricting sensation made his hand tingle as he stared at a poster and tried to ignore how anxious having a stranger close made him. She kept moving too quickly. </p><p>“How have you been sleeping?” The doctor asked. She undid the strap around his arm, the velcro ripped, and she began to take his pulse instead. She had introduced herself at some point, but Ed couldn’t remember her name.</p><p>“Fine.” </p><p>“Your heart rate and blood pressure are high,” she frowned. “Any abnormal stress?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Eating habits?”</p><p>Ed shrugged. “Normal.”</p><p>“Any alcohol, tobacco, or drug use?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Alright,” she jotted something down on her clipboard. “Can you take your shirt off for me, please?”</p><p>And there it was. </p><p>Ed clenched his fist and looked away. “Why?”</p><p>“I need to check your spine for scoliosis.” </p><p>“I don’t have scoliosis.”</p><p>“I still need to check,” she smiled. “It’s standard procedure. Don’t worry, it won’t be anything I haven’t seen before,” she teased. </p><p>He took a deep, shaky breath in. He was being irrational. He <em> knew </em>he was being irrational-</p><p>But was he?</p><p>Because he’d thought the same thing, the first time Tucker had made him strip. He’d known it was weird, but he’d refused to acknowledge it. He told himself it was fine. And now there’s another person, telling him to do the same thing. Did that still make it okay? What was the difference?</p><p>Doctors have power. Maybe not as much power as a step-parent, but what was stopping this lady from hurting him? What was stopping her from pinning him to that table, right now, and having sex with him? What was stopping Tucker from helping her do it? He was there, in the seat across from Ed, reading a magazine. He was right there. Between the two of them Ed wouldn’t be able to fight. She could do it. She might do it. </p><p>He’d been so concerned about it, the whole ride here, everytime she looked at him for just a little too long, and here it was. And as he worried his lip in an attempt to not worry his mind so much, another realization hit him-</p><p>Did it even really matter if she was going to hurt him? Did he even <em> care </em>at this point? Beyond what his body was trying to tell him about danger, beyond the residual feelings of what Tucker had done to him. Beyond all of that, did the risk mean more to him than his certification?</p><p>Eventually, he sighed, and he let his fingers travel to the hem of his shirt, before pulling it over his head and discarding it onto the table. He figured, in that moment, no. No, he really, really couldn’t give less of a shit. What was she going to do? Touch his dick? Hit him? Threaten him? Wouldn’t be the first time someone had done that. Who cared, anyways? </p><p>“Alright, if you’ll stand for me," the doctor said.</p><p>Ed jumped off the table and onto the floor, ignoring the fact he was shirtless, ignoring how threatening her presence was, ignoring the way her stare sent prickles up his spine. All he had to do was stand still, right? Just tune everything out and wait until she was done. If something happened, he could easily escape into the throws of his mind and barely remember it later. He’d be fine. It’d be worth it.</p><p>Tucker was still reading his magazine. He hadn’t even bothered to glance up once. Ed wasn’t sure if he should be thankful about that fact, or nervous. He got the feeling the man just didn’t want to seem overly interested. </p><p>That realization left him slightly nauseous, slightly shaking, because this really wasn’t normal, was it? Tucker was hiding it because it really, really wasn’t normal. Sometimes that slipped his mind. Most times, actually. </p><p>And it also made him a little scared, that the man wouldn’t spare him a glance, because it almost felt like he’d done something wrong.</p><p>The doctor prodded at his back. He caught himself locking in place soon enough for it to not be suspicious, although his breath didn’t quite unfreeze in the way that his body had. He was feeling even more light-headed. </p><p>“It all looks good,” she nodded. “I’ll take a few more vitals, and then we’ll have you out of here, okay?”</p><p>“Sure," he crossed his arms. It didn’t make him feel any less unsafe.</p><p>She ran a few more tests, told him everything seemed good, discussed vaccines, talked over the points of puberty and how his body would start changing soon. He tuned most of it out. She even questioned him on whether or not he was really sure about this whole military thing. He wasn’t feeling polite enough to find a nice way to tell her to mind her own business, so he just kept his words at that.</p><p>At one point she asked him if he had any concerns to speak with her alone about. He said that he didn’t. </p><p>And then they were back in the car. The machine rumbled lightly as they traveled down well-paved city roads, and his seatbelt was tight around his chest. </p><p>“Good job, Edward,” Tucker said. The man’s head was turned from the front seat to look at Ed, and a small smile was on his face. “You did well.”</p><p>The praise fell on deaf ears, almost literally. The visit had been stressful enough to leave him on the verge of checking out completely, and he really just wanted to go home. </p><p>He stared out the window and watched the houses pass, the people pass. He wondered what their lives were like, what kinds of things they did. People watching had never really appealed to him until recently. He’d always figured it was silly, because humans could be made cheap, in theory, but experiences couldn’t. You couldn’t categorize an individual completely based off of one snippet that you catch. </p><p>Now though, it was just nice to imagine that not everyone went through the same stuff he did. He’d rather be alone in this than have there be others like him. Maybe that was immature, a naive idea, because he'd read enough to know that would never be true, but he could dream. He’d like to picture something better, even if he might never see it himself. </p><p>Sometimes Ed wondered about what would happen if they got in a car crash. If by some freak accident, he woke up in the hospital, and Tucker was gone from this world. If the man died, he could move on. He wouldn’t have to see him, think about him, be touched by him, feel threatened anymore. He would be allowed to live again. He figured imagining how much better his life would be probably made him a terrible person. </p><p>But Ed really didn’t want him deceased. Nina deserved a dad, just like she deserved a mom. A part of him debated if he was doing the right thing, searching for Lillian, because Tucker was a pretty shit father to him, but he adored Nina. </p><p>Well, kind of a shit father. It wasn’t like the man starved him, or beat him regularly, and sometimes Ed wondered if he was making a big deal out of nothing. Sometimes he wondered if he should just accept this as normal and move on. He kind of already had. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing anymore.</p><p>No, he didn’t want Tucker dead, but an apology would be nice. He liked to imagine it, occasionally, Tucker coming up to him one day and saying he was sorry. Admitting that he’d done something wrong, showing remorse for threatening Al, taking responsibility for his actions, promising to be better. That was childish, wasn’t it? Ed felt so childish. He shouldn’t need other people to tell him he was right. He shouldn’t need Tucker to tell him he was allowed to be upset.</p><p>He was still waiting for Tucker to change his mind about letting them go, for the man to grab him by the wrist and lock him in the basement or something. He'd never given him a real decision before that wasn’t an illusion. He’d never had free will like this. He didn’t trust it.</p><p>“I’ll miss you, you know,” Tucker interrupted the delicate silence. “If you change your mind about leaving, you can always tell me.”</p><p>“I’m not going to.”</p><p>“I thought I should make the option known.”</p><p>Ed rolled his eyes and slouched further into his seat. “You only want me here so I’ll suck your dick.”</p><p>Tucker responded with something, but Ed chose to ignore him. </p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Ed passed his practical test the next day. The fuhrer told him his new name and he wondered if a fresh identity would be enough to wipe him clean completely, if he could somehow separate Fullmetal from Edward Elric. He’d questioned how the hell he had managed to even pass in the first place, if he’d deserved it, if there would’ve been better options than him. </p><p>He figured it didn’t matter, though, because he was leaving either way.</p><p>Maes bought him ice cream. Alphonse seemed happier than he’d been in weeks. Mustang called him up and demanded he be in East City asap for his first briefing. Tucker didn’t have sex with him, that night. He was too busy working on his assessment project. Nina told him she bragged to her friends about him, that they wanted to meet him, that they didn’t believe she really knew him. Apparently becoming the youngest state alchemist in history was enough to get his face branded in every available newspaper, and now all the little kindergarteners thought he was cool. Nina said they wanted to be like him. </p><p>That was scary. He hoped they never would. </p><p>Al and him agreed to stay an extra two days, under the guise of needing more time to sort the paperwork out. Tucker had been smug with that notion, and Ed let the man believe what he wanted. </p><p>He still couldn’t figure out where Lillian had run away to. A part of him was afraid she wouldn't ever turn up, that she was so scared of Tucker that she really had gone into hiding completely, or moved out of the country, and he had no hope of finding her. He tried calling her family, and nobody had seen her. He’d gotten desperate enough for information to start going through Tucker’s stuff while he was away, searching for anything that could possibly give a hint of where she went. </p><p>He’d regretted it immediately, the second he saw the photos of himself. He was tempted to clap his hands and deconstruct it all right there, but that would just be begging for something bad to happen. He couldn’t risk it. </p><p>He’d taken the files he needed and run out of there before the nausea could set in. He threw up after, though. Al asked him what was wrong. He didn’t have it in him to say. </p><p>He just hoped Lillian wasn’t dead. He didn’t want to have to break that news to Nina.</p><p>No, she couldn't be dead. He needed her alive. Nina deserved a mother, and he couldn't keep doing this. He really, really couldn't keep doing this. Lillian wasn't allowed to just fuck off and die, that wasn't <em>fair</em>.</p><p>So he kept searching.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>The air was musty, electric, it danced through his soul, prepared him for what was to come. </p><p>Lines. Thick, drawn lines of chalk. Painted on the basement floor so naturally, as if they've always been there, like stars in the sky, like life itself. </p><p>The array was perfect. It had been tested and shaped with time and experimentation. A statue being chipped to sublimity, it really was art, in the purest sense. Molded and made to mold. Broken and rebuilt. Push and pull, the limits of his humanity, the limits of what humanity itself is capable of. </p><p>He couldn't wait to see what would happen. If he could do it. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The intro starts with Tucker explaining how he targeted Ed. He says that he doesn't necessarily want to severely injure him, but he does enjoy the power he possesses over him. His internal dialogue transitions into a blowjob scene, which turns into a scene of him making child pornography. He tells Ed to masturbate, and Ed does, but clearly doesn't enjoy it. Tucker demands for him to stop being difficult and give in, and Ed refuses, saying that he doesn't like doing this. Before Tucker can react to Ed's denial, Ed mentions that he and Al are leaving soon, and Tucker says that he won't stop them if that's what they're going to do either way. Ed then accuses him of raping his wife, too, and Tucker neither confirms nor denies this. </p><p>Ed shares that he feels like he's a bad person for leaving Nina behind like her mother did, and like his father did to him. Tucker tells him that if he feels bad he should just stay. Ed starts crying and tells Tucker to stop acting like he cares. Since Ed's so distraught, Tucker allows him to rest for the day, but also mentions to Ed that once he leaves, nobody is going to care about him in the way that he can. The scene ends with Tucker wondering if there's a different way to make Ed stay.</p><p>---</p><p>This has been one of the harder chapters to write, so I'm sorry for the late update. The next chapter should hopefully be out sooner rather than later, but these upcoming few have been some of the most difficult for me, so I can't make any promises. With that, the world is kind of a mess right now, so please stay safe everyone.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ed and Al always seemed sad. </p><p>Nina wasn’t sure why, but they just were. Al was irritable and quick to snap at people, but also seemed to strain himself to be pleasant. Ed was tired more often than not. He'd stop paying attention to what she was saying, or lose focus on what he was doing, or get really anxious. When she asked, he told her it was grown up stuff, which really wasn’t fair, because he was a kid like her. </p><p>The time she told him that, he didn’t respond, but his eyebrows had drawn together and he’d glanced away, before mumbling that it wasn’t the kind of thing she needed to know about. She pressed him for more, but then he just crossed his arms and changed the topic. </p><p>She realized, later, that she had upset him. She didn't try asking again after that. </p><p>She didn’t think that they noticed that she noticed that something was wrong. Although she hadn’t, for a while, but then things started happening, like how Ed and Al never left their room. Sometimes her dad would take Ed away to study, or help with chores, and when Ed came back he’d act super weird. Other times, when Ed returned, she’d go to knock on the door to play with him, and hear him arguing with Al. They’d talk in hushed, angry tones, and it would be hard to understand everything they were saying, except for the days where the murmurs became shouts. They’d yell about her dad, or the alchemy test, or even about her, and then something would slam and water would run.</p><p>They’d stopped having family dinners after an argument broke out at the table between her dad and Al a few weeks ago.</p><p>Al had been upset because Ed was hurt and he’d said it was her dad’s fault, and then her dad had told him that Ed would’ve been fine if Al hadn’t been so violent. The dispute ended when Ed slammed his knife down and told them to shut up while they’re company. Then they all looked at her, and she felt really embarrassed, because she still didn’t know what was wrong, but it seemed like she’d done something she shouldn’t have.</p><p>Afterwards, Ed had taken her into the other room, hugged her tight, and told her not to repeat any of what they’d said to anybody else. When she asked why, he said to just trust him.</p><p>They never fought in front of her after that, but everyone still acted weird when they were together. The silences would draw out a little too long. When there was conversation, it was strained. Ed would talk with her to fill the quiet up with something, and Al would nod along, but the minute her dad said anything, they’d both tense like they forgot he was there, before retreating back into themselves.</p><p>Her teacher, Mrs. Martin, had mentioned during class that it’s normal for people to argue, and the best way to fix it is to talk it out. Clara Davids said she disagreed. Nina had thought Clara Davids was an idiot before that, so she figured Mrs. Martin must be right.</p><p>And so Nina followed that line of thinking down the hallway of her house and towards her dad’s door. Because if anybody could make it better, it was him. If they just needed to sit down and talk about it, she guessed that he could help with that. </p><p>Besides, he’d mentioned that he had a surprise for her that he wanted to show off today. She’d been looking forward to it since when he’d mentioned it the night before, and she’d spent all of school wondering what it was. Maybe a new pet, or a trip somewhere, or her favorite food. There were a lot of things, she wasn’t sure where to start. Maybe she should’ve asked for a hint.</p><p>Her backpack hugged her shoulders tightly and weighted her footsteps as she walked through the corridor of her home. Her eyelids were heavy. She really wanted a nap. Coming back from school always left her tired, but she was devoted to her decision now. She let out a yawn and her hand traced the paint on the wall, trailing the texture, making the tips of her fingers numb. She hummed one of the songs she’d heard from her dad’s records lightly to herself, uncaring of her volume as she rounded the edge of the hall. </p><p>And just as she did, she saw Ed flit out of her dad’s door and down the hallway. He was stumbling slightly, in a rush, his strides quick and his head held high. She raised her voice, about to call for him, when he darted around the other corner. A door slammed shut. </p><p>Nina frowned, but shrugged it off. At least she knew her dad was probably there. Nobody was allowed in his room when he wasn’t with them, afterall. </p><p>She began her journey down the hall with newfound anticipation. The second she came to her destination, she knocked at his door. No response. </p><p>She tried again. Nothing. </p><p>Maybe he wasn’t there after all. She furrowed her eyebrows, about to back away, about to go to her room and try again later-</p><p>And that’s when the curiosity hit. A creeping, persistent feeling, one that sunk its teeth into her flesh and made her jittery. It gnawed at her from the inside out, told her what to do, almost made the decision for her. Yes, she wasn’t allowed in there <em> technically, </em>but Ed had done it, and she’d always wondered why she wasn’t supposed to enter. And besides, maybe she’d get a hint for what the surprise was, and then she wouldn’t have to wonder so much.</p><p>Her eyes shifted around the hall, her ears wide open, straining for any noise or hint of company. When none came, she grinned and cracked the door to go in.  </p><p>It was dark. The curtains were drawn and none of the lights were on, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary from the times she’d seen it. After waiting for a moment, debating if she should back out, she slipped through the door and closed it softly behind her. </p><p>Once inside fully, she glanced around, unsure of what to do. She readjusted her backpack and began the walk towards the middle of the room. She wasn’t really looking for anything in particular, so she glanced from corner to corner, taking in every detail for any hints of where to go. </p><p>There was a dresser next to the door, a few feet tall. It had dark oak wood and a light sheen of dust that clung to the edges of the drawers. She vaguely recalled her dad buying it shortly after they’d moved in. Her dad’s closet stood to her left with double sliding white doors that were cracked open ever so slightly. A desk sat near the other wall, a few dirty cups placed on one of the corners. Files were strewn over the surface, white paper contrasted starkly against the black exterior, the boringness of it almost enough to make her curiosity dwindle and snuff out. Her dad’s bed sat in the middle of the room, its headboard flush against the back wall. A plush blue comforter was thrown over it and the mattress was a few feet off the ground, held up by a black foundation.</p><p>She figured the closet was a good place to start, and so she trotted towards it and pulled open the doors. The hinges slid back, creaking slightly as wood rubbed against wood. After they were cracked open enough to see the extent of it fully, she poked her head inside. </p><p>Coats and shirts dangled loosely off of wire and wood hangers. A few blankets lined a shelf above where they were draped, too high up to be in her reach. Shoes were arranged neatly on the bottom, each glinting slightly, showing off their polished state. </p><p>After looking for a moment, she slid the doors back shut. Nothing interesting there. She turned on her heel and started back towards the dresser near the door. </p><p>She tugged open the bottom drawer and found… Socks. Fascinating. She tried the next one, which was full of shirts. The final one was almost too tall for her to peer into, but after standing on her tippy toes and straining her neck over it, she saw something glint. She pursed her lips and reached inside. </p><p>Her hand hit something cold and stiff. She wrapped her fingers around it and lifted, feeling the smooth texture of metal as she raised it into her view. It was a gun. She put it back in immediately. She was young, but she knew that those were dangerous and bad. </p><p>The unease from being in there when she shouldn’t was starting to make her knees shake. Her body was tense and she got the feeling she should probably leave before she got in trouble, but she figured looking at one more thing would probably be fine. She really wanted to see if she could figure out the surprise, or at least know what Ed was doing in there. He never told her anything, and she doubted just asking would help. He’d just brush it off as something she shouldn’t worry about. </p><p>She made her way over to the bed, crouching down to peer under it. When she couldn’t make anything out but darkness, she got an idea, and slid her backpack off her shoulders. The bag hit the ground with a light thud, rolling ever so slightly, before resting flat on its side. She wasn’t sure if it would fit, considering what she was about to do.</p><p>She got on her forearms and wiggled herself under the mattress’s foundation. A dust bunny brushed against her hand as she crawled. She glanced around, but most of what she saw was cast in shadow. Just as she had turned to leave, the door creaked open and hit the wall with a light tap. Someone walked in.</p><p>Her breath caught. She froze in place for a moment, hoping that whoever it was would go away if she was still enough. They didn’t.</p><p>The guilt of being there was suddenly heavy in her stomach, a string that twisted up and around her insides and made her queasy. She really shouldn’t have done this, and now as quickly as she had been curious, she was regretful. </p><p>The person came closer into view from where she could peep from beneath the bed. She could only see the bottom of green slacks and leather shoes, but she knew it was her dad. The footsteps drew nearer, before stopping, and then there was another pair. He wasn’t alone.</p><p>“Do we really have to do this right now?” She recognized the grumbling voice as Ed’s. “I’ve got shit to do.”</p><p>“You can finish packing later,” her dad said flippantly. “I need to use the bathroom. Get ready while I’m in there.”</p><p>Ed scoffed. “Fine.”</p><p>A pair of footfalls retreated towards the entrance to the washroom that stood a few meters away. The door shut, and as soon as it did, Ed sighed and mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘asshole.’ She might have giggled at that, another time, but right now her heart was racing louder than any off-hand comments, even if they did have funny words.</p><p>There was the sound of cloth brushing against skin. Fabric hit the floor and Ed's tank top laid in a black, discarded lump near the edge of the bed. Nina got the feeling she really wasn’t supposed to be there.</p><p>But then it stopped. She could make out Ed’s feet turning in her direction, and it was at that moment that Nina realized that her backpack was still on the ground, clearly in noticeable view for him.</p><p>She stifled her mouth with her hand and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that he wouldn’t realize she was under the bed. Her prayers didn’t mean anything, apparently, because as soon as Ed picked up the backpack and it disappeared from her line of sight, he crouched down to look at her. His eyes widened. </p><p>“Nina,” Ed whispered. His previous shock morphed into a look of agitation, his bright irises made darker by the dim light, though they held a shine to them that wasn’t usually present. His shirt was off and his hair hung loose over his shoulders. “What the hell are you doing?”</p><p>“I- I was just-” She started, keeping her voice low as well. Embarrassment and guilt bit at her, threatening to turn into falling tears. The string that twisted her stomach into knots got more and more tangled with every passing second.</p><p>Ed shook his head and cut her off, “Okay,” He sighed. “Explain later. I need you to get your backpack and <em> get out. </em> And don’t do this again, got it?<em>”  </em></p><p>His voice was an irritated whisper, so unlike his usual friendly rowdiness that it threw her off. His eyes darted between her and the bathroom door, lips pressed so tightly that Nina could almost feel his anxiety. Or maybe that was just hers, because she really didn’t want to be grounded for this.</p><p>She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. “Please don’t tell dad,” her voice came out softer than she’d meant it to be, cracking a bit as she spoke. </p><p>“I won’t, now c’mon.”</p><p>He stood and stepped back. Nina followed shortly behind, wiggling herself out from beneath the mattress's foundation and standing as soon as she could. Her legs shook and buckled below her as Ed handed her the backpack. He walked with her towards the door, clearly in a rush, but he kept his steps quiet. </p><p>As Nina looked at him, she noticed all of the marks. Her lips turned into a frown. “You’re hurt,” she whispered. “What happened?”</p><p>He opened his mouth to speak, his cheeks growing darker, before he shook his head and brought a finger to his lips. Confusion gnawed at her, raising question after question the longer she stared at him. Why wouldn’t he talk about it? That wasn’t fair, she wanted to know. </p><p>“Tell me,” she mouthed, gripping her backpack close to her chest and furrowing her eyebrows into a pout.</p><p>In lieu of responding, Ed ushered her into the hallway, hurried in his movements, and almost aggressive. He smiled softly at her, as if to tell her to not worry, and then promptly closed the door behind him. The motion was so soft that she didn’t even hear the handle click. </p><p>“Edward,” After a few moments, her dad’s voice could be made out faintly through the walls. “I thought I said to get ready.”</p><p>“Sorry.”</p><p>Nina wasn’t sure how long she stood there, staring at the door. The seconds ticked by in the form of a grandfather clock at the end of the hallway, the methodical rhythm not helping to sort her thoughts in the slightest. A part of her was tempted to just shrug this off as weird and move on, but Nina could tell that something was wrong. She didn’t know what, or how, or why, but she knew it was off. </p><p>She was brought back, in that moment, to her first day of school. To the icy wind that bit at her cheeks and the jelly donut Ed had bought for her from a nearby bakery in celebration. But most importantly, to the words he’d spoken, with a clenched fist and a pained, worried face. </p><p>To the game she’d agreed to play. </p><p>Ed had promised to get her anything she wanted if she warned him in the event that her or Al were in danger. </p><p>But he’d never said anything about himself. </p><p>She wondered why that was. </p><p>She put her back to the wall and slid down, brushing against it until she could sit on the floor with her knees drawn up. She glanced again to the door, straining her ears for the occasional noise that escaped the grasp of the walls, the rare clue she could use to figure out why everyone was being so weird. Whatever was going on sounded painful. She furrowed her eyebrows.</p><p>After a while, her eyelids felt heavy, and she grew bored of sitting there with nothing to do, but she wasn't about to leave, either. She wanted to understand what was happening. Eavesdropping was rude, she knew that, but her curiosity was once again outweighing risk.</p><p>At some point she dozed off, the sheer exhaustion from her stress and day at school enough to lull her into a state of unconsciousness. She leaned on her backpack, her back sore from sitting for so long, and her eyes slipped closed as they pulled her into dreamland. </p><p>It might’ve been minutes, or hours, or only a few seconds, Nina wasn’t sure, but after some time, she woke up to yelling.</p><p>---</p><p>Ed was back in that room, but it wasn't like he ever truly left, did he? </p><p>The curtains were drawn. The dark blue, heavy cotton only allowed the tiniest rays of sunlight to dance between the cracks in the fabric. The sight was far too soft, far too pretty, far too mundane to be in a place like this. It was almost cruel.</p><p>The door was locked, as it always was, and Ed wasn't sure if the fact that nobody could enter made it better, or worse. Clothes were strewn about the floor. The plain, green walls seemed entirely too small. Ed wondered if at any moment, they’d box him in completely. The outside world felt like a distant memory and he ached in the absence of it. Of being somewhere else, with somebody else, as someone else.</p><p>He huddled into the sheets and pulled the comforter up past his chest. It shrouded his body completely, gave him a sense of protection, made him feel like he wasn't baring every part of him in the way that he knew he was. It was warm, and yet he still felt goosebumps trail his flesh, biting numbness at his skin, a blizzard in his mind that obscured any clear thought. </p><p>Rain pattered against the roof. It was harsh, complete with lightning, thunder, and he wondered if somehow, the storm could wash him away from there. If he could join it and become a part of a stream, river, ocean, part of something bigger. If he could escape within the droplets of water and find himself someplace else.</p><p>He stared down at the floor and counted the wooden panels over and over. He recited elements, mentally sang the national anthem, anything to get his mind off of where he was.</p><p>While curled in Tucker's bed, he tried to ignore the arm around his waist. It trapped him, close to the man’s chest, so close he could feel breath on his neck. His arm was falling asleep beneath the dead-weight of his body. He was tempted to readjust it, but even the smallest gestures made him afraid that Tucker would remember he was there.</p><p>He'd been pinned the second he moved in, the minute Tucker had laid his eyes on him, the moment he led his guard down-</p><p>But the fact that he could barely move, even now, was just pouring salt in the wound.</p><p>He’d lost two limbs, a brother, and a mother by age 11, but these past three months had been even worse than all that. Ed could've opened a goddamn bakery with how many times Tucker had taken the cake for traumatizing him, but the events themselves were preferable to the aftermath where he'd just hold him. At least sex had a lot of movement. He didn't have to stew in it, he could just do his job and it'd be done. </p><p>Tucker had wanted him to stay, just a little longer, and Ed hadn’t bothered to test his luck by saying no. It had to have been a few hours since then, and Ed wasn’t feeling up for another round, but he doubted he had a choice. He'd gotten lucky with the pictures a few days ago. Tucker had taken pity on him for whatever reason. </p><p>Ed still couldn't believe he'd cried. He'd been doing it more lately than he had in his entire life, and it was stupid. It's not like tears fixed his problems. It's not like he had time to wallow in self pity, especially in front of Tucker. Ed had let the man see such a vulnerable side of him, and he hated that he couldn't control it anymore.</p><p>But there weren't words for it, there was no possible way to put the things that were happening into clear thought, into phrases he could utter. There was no translation. He could make a million analogies, say a thousand things, stitch together expressions of speech until his throat was sore and he was out of breath, but it’d never come close to what it had been like, being in this room.</p><p>So when it got to be too much, he cried. And he almost felt better, but he also felt worse. </p><p>He wondered if doing it made him hypocritical. The weeping brought him back to his childhood, to Winry and her sensitive nature, to the things he’d say to her-</p><p>(“Crying is for babies!” Ed stood, one flesh hand on his hip, the other outstretched to help her up. His pride was present in every tendon, every inch of bone. Not yet stored away somewhere within the throws of his mind, and not yet a painful, metal reminder. “Hey c’mon, it’s alright. You're being stupid, tears won't help anything.”) Winry’s angry remarks as her eyebrows furrowed and snot ran down her face, smeared over her lips, glistened in the summer sunlight. (“You’re being mean, Ed!” She sniffled. “It makes me feel better!”) </p><p>And he really thought, then, that she might’ve been on to something all along. </p><p>He wondered if Tucker would feel bad about this if he broke down for real. Probably not. He doubted the man felt guilty. He doubted Tucker had to spend hours scrubbing himself in the bath, or feel burnt anytime somebody touched him, or taste acid anytime he thought about what happened. It never seemed to truly affect him, strip away every part of him and replace it with something that wasn’t quite right, wasn’t quite the same. He wasn’t shattered by the end of it, he never spaced out, he never cried. Tucker was present. He was present, and he enjoyed every second.</p><p>But Ed held out on the tiniest sliver of hope that this ate at him, day by day, and made him feel guilty. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility, was it? Any minute before Ed left, the man could apologize and promise he'd stop. He'd say he regretted doing this, and he'd recognize how much he'd hurt him.</p><p>Ed could finally sleep at night if he did, he thought. At least he'd know there was <em>some </em>level of regret. He'd stop feeling like there was more to it, like he was still waiting for something. He'd finally be able to cut him off and move on.</p><p>Or maybe Tucker would apologize, and everything would be okay. They could yell it out and none of it would mean anything in the end.</p><p>If he really didn't feel even a hint of guilt, Ed wished Tucker would say that he never liked him at all. The man could hit him, spit at him, and tell him he was a useless whore who he’d despised this whole time. Ed would yell back, tell Tucker he’s a selfish asshole who betrayed him. He'd flip him off, storm out of the house guns blazing, and know he’d been right all along. He'd fully accept that Tucker had been doing this on purpose. He'd finally be able to acknowledge that this <em> was </em> real and this <em> was </em>painful and he was allowed to fucking cry for once.</p><p>Either would work. Either would be better than this tar-pit of a middle ground, where Ed sunk further and further into his emotions until the constant, daily fear was heavy in his lungs and he couldn’t breathe anymore. This tar-pit of a middle ground, where Tucker fucked him and then held him like he deserved the right to do so.</p><p>But, well, both of those options were fantasies. Just that, possibilities he could hope for, because hoping was all he had left. He felt so wishy-washy, so resigned. He hated it. </p><p>He was tossing coins into an endless well. He tried to find comfort in the hope that they’d hit the bottom and his wish might come true, but he knew they wouldn’t. He’d never get that kind of closure. He shouldn't need it anyways, and he definitely didn't deserve it.</p><p>Tucker was a bastard who wouldn’t let him have peace, and he still hadn’t found Nina's mother. He wondered if he'd have to take Nina with him after all, but another choice was brewing in his mind. It sewed dread into the very seams of his being and lurked in the back of his thoughts. The more he tried to push it away, the more it came forward, the more desperate it made him. It was always, always there, and every passing second brought him closer to considering it.</p><p>He couldn’t stay.</p><p>But he also <em> could</em>.</p><p>He could live there, and he could chase leads through research while Al traveled on the road. They could call every other day and exchange information. It wasn't ideal, not at all, but he was willing to compromise in a way he'd never been able to do before. </p><p>He didn’t know you could be this angry at somebody you’ve never met. Lillian was shredding the last bits of his resolve with every second the woman spent absent. She got to escape, of course she got to escape, but he was stuck there, looking after <em> her </em>kid, until further notice. He adored Nina. He loved her almost as deeply as he loved Al, he would do anything to make sure she stayed safe, but he didn't know how to save her and help Al, too. </p><p>At this rate, it was like he couldn't win no matter what. </p><p>He wondered if the fact that he was even thinking that was a bad sign, though it felt so true he barely had the energy to fight it anymore. </p><p>He'd been broken down and stitched back together into a pathetic imitation of who he'd been. Every time Tucker touched him broke him. He was being pulled apart and reconstructed, the rips in his psyche sloppily patched over with the remaining will he had left. He just couldn't give a damn in the way he used to. That probably wasn't healthy, was it? Before, he’d take issue with every single thing. He knew how to get what he wanted without sacrificing anything important, but he'd soon learned reality didn't work that way. At some point, he'd settled for not being dead, not having his brother be dead, and not having Nina become a victim, too. </p><p>If he stayed, he’d be breaking his promise to Al that he’d do everything in his power to get his body back. He'd be splitting his attention between too many things. There wouldn't be a way to spend every second devoted to his goal when he had Tucker, taking care of Nina, and keeping himself together to worry about. He wasn’t about to have Al switch places with him, either, because he’d give up his remaining two limbs before he even <em>considered </em>that as a valid option. </p><p>He’d need to resign from the military the same week he’d joined. They wouldn’t let him back in, and there was a chance that he couldn't leave even if he tried. He'd either face a court martial for refusing to finish his contract, or he'd need to run and have his leash become his noose. They'd send him to the gallows for desertion at worst, and at best he'd spend years in prison.</p><p>And even if he got out, he'd lose all the extra information on the stone that Mustang could give him. He could probably get access on restricted material if he asked Tucker, but-</p><p>The thought made his head spin. He’d really owe the man then. There was no way to know what Tucker would want in return, and his brother wouldn’t be there if something happened. This whole thing only ever started because Ed owed a debt and Tucker had enough leverage to scare him into paying it. He couldn’t give the man more things to dangle over him.</p><p>But if it came between his safety and Nina’s, he could make do. And if he was fucked either way, he may as well help his brother in the process. </p><p>He could cut off everyone but Al and become a distant memory. Then he could focus on research, do whatever he had to do to keep Tucker satiated and get new material for said research, and fix his brother. It wasn’t ideal, but it would get him where he wanted eventually.</p><p>He knit his eyebrows. Determination was a sloppy cover for how nauseated and depressed the thought actually made him. </p><p>Right, he'd cut everyone off, people would forget about him, and they’d stop asking questions. Maes was going to get sick of him sooner rather than later. Winry and Granny had their own lives to live. Mustang didn’t give a shit about anybody but himself. That was the extent of people who he talked to, nobody would notice his absence.</p><p>And besides, he didn't want to be seen like this. He didn't want anyone to witness the whirlpool that his life was becoming, that <em> he </em> was becoming. One that sucked everything in and ruined it, one that destroyed anything good in its path, that wrecked ships, that ravaged lives. Nothing positive was going to come out of being associated with him. They would all just get too close and find out the truth, or become canon fodder for Tucker's blackmail, or end up leaving anyways because he was a shattered, useless mess.</p><p>But that was scary, too, because he didn’t want to be alone. He couldn’t survive being abandoned, not if he wanted to keep himself in three pieces. </p><p>He was searching, desperately, for something to hang onto. And that came in the form of his promise to his brother and keeping Nina safe, because what he <em> did </em>need was something to ground him, otherwise he wouldn't just be a whirlpool, his life would become a black hole void of any meaning. </p><p>He felt like he was stumbling through his days like a toddler, unable to walk properly, unable to fend for himself, totally helpless-</p><p>Ed scowled at that thought. No, he wasn't helpless. He was still fighting. He had to find proof of that, proof in the scars on his body, proof in the fact he was still alive. He was doing something. This had to be worth something.</p><p>But fuck, something in him was going to give sooner rather than later at this rate. He knew himself well enough to recognize when screws were loose. Every day that passed was another stone added to his shoulders, another shovel-full of dirt that slowly lowered him into an early grave. </p><p>He'd always thought it was dumb, when people moved in the directions life pushed them, when they acted like victims of circumstance. Now he understood, because it felt like no matter what he did, he didn't have a choice. </p><p>So yeah, trapped was a good word to describe him, a little shattered, helpless was not, and he'd never felt so goddamn pathetic.</p><p>"You still don't have to leave, you know," Tucker said. Ed rolled his eyes. Of course the man would talk. He just couldn't shut his mouth and let Ed pretend he wasn't there, could he? </p><p>"Having this conversation for the third time isn't going to change my answer."</p><p>"I don't want you to leave." </p><p>Something gnawed at Ed. It crawled up his throat and it almost tasted like guilt. He swallowed it back down before he could think too much about it, because Tucker's emotions weren't his problem, and it was about time the man got a taste of his own medicine. It’s not like Tucker kept him around for his personality, anyways.</p><p>If he did, that would probably just make it worse. </p><p>Ed scowled. "I don't care about what you want." </p><p>"You’re being rude."</p><p>Ed had to stop himself from laughing, because really, what a fucking hypocrite.</p><p>"It's going to be brutal, being a state alchemist," Tucker sighed. It was warm against Ed’s neck and it made him shiver. "I'm sorry for that."</p><p>"Yeah," Ed wrapped the blanket tighter around himself and created as much distance between him and Tucker as he could.</p><p>"Are you worried about it?" Tucker asked. </p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Are you looking forward to it?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Stop giving me one-word answers, you’re being a bad conversationalist.”</p><p>Ed didn’t respond, choosing instead to shut his eyes, pretend he wasn’t there, and take a deep breath in. It was relaxing until he got a big whiff of Tucker’s cologne. He was forced back to the present and regretted breathing at all.</p><p>Tucker sighed. “Come on, I’m curious.”</p><p>"I thought I told you the other day to stop pretending you care."</p><p>"Edward," Tucker toyed with his hair. Ed had thought about shaving it off a few times, if only to give the man one less thing to touch, but in the end, he'd decided he wanted to keep it. It was something that was his and his alone. It was his choice, his hair, his one last bit of agency. "You're leaving tomorrow. I just want to chat before you go."</p><p>"Well I don't." </p><p>"Humor me," Tucker said. "What have I done wrong? I've been kind to you."</p><p>Ed scoffed. “What haven’t you done?”</p><p>Tucker stroked down his hair again, stopping the movement near the bottom, his voice going lower, more threatening. “What’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Ed said quickly, blurting out the first thing he could think of in an effort to placate Tucker before he actually got upset. When the man gave no hint of further anger, he allowed himself to relax a bit. He tightened his fist around the blanket's fabric, securing it around his shoulders and mumbling bitterly, "It's not like you listen to what I think anyways.”</p><p>“Edward,” Tucker kissed his head. It was chaste and it made him want to disappear even more, shrivel into himself, stop existing altogether, anything to make the man stop. “You’re being difficult. Cut it out.”</p><p>They laid like that for a few more minutes. Tucker’s touch was burning him and he had to resist the urge to squirm, to shuck it off. He hated when he had to stay after they were done. He hated how the man held him and pet his hair and acted like he gave a shit. He'd hum over the room's heavy silence, over the anticipation that stirred in Ed’s gut because he <em> knew </em>what was coming and all he could do was wait for it to start again.</p><p>“Are you going to fuck me again or not?” Ed asked after a moment. </p><p>“Do you want me to?”</p><p>Ed rolled his eyes. How funny! It was almost like he had a choice.</p><p>“Do it if you're gonna,” Ed snapped.</p><p>“Maybe I won’t, if you’re going to be snarky.”</p><p>“I'm not being snarky.”</p><p>"You know you are, Edward," he huffed. "I just want to enjoy this time with you because I care about you, and you’re leaving."</p><p>Of course that's what he'd say, because every single little thing was always Ed's fault, wasn't it? <em> He’s </em>being difficult because he doesn't want to talk, he’s the one who deserved to get hit, he’s the one who asked to have sex. </p><p>Everything was always, always on him. Every mistake, every minute, stupid detail. He started it by moving in, and he was always saying the wrong thing, or overreacting, or not reacting enough, or being too stand-offish, or being too provocative. Tucker would probably tell him it was his fault the fucking sun rose in the east if he could find a way to spin it, and the worst part was that Ed might've been inclined to agree with him.</p><p>Tucker really had to hate him, didn't he? Ed knew himself to be callous, selfish, a smart-ass, a whore, but even he had to wonder how much of this he deserved sometimes.</p><p>“No, you don’t,” Ed’s lip quivered. “You hate me.”</p><p>“I don’t.”</p><p>“Yes, you do.” </p><p>“No,” Tucker sighed and pulled him closer. The heat radiated off of the man's skin that much more, and his own muscles tensed in response to the sudden touch. They strained until he was shaking and the stress on his tired body hurt him, but he didn't dare move. Even breathing felt like he was taking a risk. “I don’t.”</p><p>The words were spoken so softly, and yet with so much conviction. It was almost believable.</p><p>Ed wasn't stupid, though. If the man gave a shit, he wouldn't have threatened Al and Nina's safety so often. That was the line that didn't get crossed; the final straw that made the argument crumble to the floor. Ed could look at it, objectively, and know it was wrong. Laws were too detached from the situation, and he respected himself before, maybe, but now his pride was placed in a box in the throws of his mind, along with the memories. Ed didn't matter, not nearly as much as his family, and the things Tucker had said about his family were unforgivable.</p><p>Ed’s heart was pounding staccato rhythms against the cavity of his chest. Each thump sent him closer to the edge. The words he’d wanted to ask so many times were dancing about his mind, towards the tip of his tongue, and before he even realized it, they were spoken. “Tell me why you’re doing this."</p><p>Tucker chuckled lightly. It was rumbling and low, unperturbed. Ed thinned his lips. This was a serious question that he was honestly afraid to ask, and there the man was, laughing at him.</p><p>“You’re golden, Edward,” Tucker shook his head lightly. “You’re so bright, but you know how this started. You wanted a reason for me to keep you around, and I gave it to you.”</p><p>“I didn't think this was what you meant,” the phrase came out hushed, like it was some big secret. He wanted to scream it. He wanted to yell at Tucker's face and force him to <em>listen</em>, to take what he had to say seriously, but he'd tried that before and all he got was a black eye.</p><p>It felt wrong, admitting that he'd never desired it, even if he wasn't saying it directly.</p><p>Ed felt like a liar. His palms were sweaty, his eyes darting about the room, his muscles tensing and preparing for abuse. He inhaled unsteadily and confessed, "I didn't even know what you were doing, at first," he squeezed his eyes shut until his eyelashes were damp with tears, and took another shaky breath in. It was broken by a hiccup that was as pathetic and vulnerable as he felt. “I didn’t want it."</p><p>It was different than the first time he'd admitted he didn't like it, when he'd been flailing and yelling for Tucker to stop. It felt more real, like a serious discussion rather than a panicked plea for Tucker to get off of him. It wasn't the same as the pictures, either, or any other incident where he'd made it clear how much he hated this. He wasn't sure why.</p><p>People like to talk about catharsis, how saying things aloud is like taking a weight off your shoulders-</p><p>And they’re all full of shit. Ed felt worse, if anything. His thoughts were out in the open, and he couldn’t act like he was okay with it anymore. He hadn’t been able to for a while, no matter how much he pretended, but something about telling Tucker specifically felt like he was selling the last damaged, shattered bits of his soul away.</p><p>But he needed to say it. He was fishing for something. An apology, repentance, even the smallest hint of guilt, something that he could grab onto and hold close to his chest. Maybe he was deluding himself- Well, actually, he knew he was deluding himself, but he didn’t care. He wanted some comfort, for once in his goddamn life, he wanted to be allowed to be selfish.</p><p>Some sincerity. He just wanted the man to show some sincerity.</p><p>“The only reason you’re here right now is <em> because </em>I bothered to help you,” Tucker continued to run his fingers through his hair, threading through the strands with a kindness that his words betrayed. Ed was starting to wonder if he made a mistake not shaving it off after all. “Do you honestly think anybody else would’ve put in this amount of effort, Edward? Nobody but me even wanted to adopt you. They never would’ve kept you around this long.”</p><p>“I know that,” Ed spat. “I’m not fucking stupid, I know that. Stop rubbing it in my face.”</p><p>“Then why are you upset?”</p><p>Ed’s mind went blank. He knew why he was upset, but the words were too thick, too heavy, to squeeze from his throat. They might’ve suffocated him if he even tried.</p><p>His eyes burned until it was unbearable, forcing him to blink a stray tear out. His chest constricted painfully, the sensation snaking up into his throat and choking him up, drying his mouth and making his tongue stick to the roof of it uncomfortably. He buried his head into his pillow and let out a pained gasp, drowned out by the fabric below. Some of the cloth caught in his mouth when he opened it and the material was soon dampened with saliva. He sobbed once, quietly, but the next was something closer to a muffled screech. </p><p>Tucker's cologne still stuck to the cushion, just like it did every item in the room. Ed could always smell it even after he left. He wished he could get it off of him, but no matter how hard he tried, it wouldn't wash from his clothes, nor could he scrub it from his skin. </p><p>“Don’t cry,” Tucker shushed him and ran a hand down his back. “It’s alright, there’s no need to be upset.”</p><p>"Shut the fuck up!" Ed's head snapped up from where he had smothered his face in the pillow. His eyebrows were furrowed and his teeth were bared, a feral animal about to lunge, all instinct, all outrage. "You don't give a shit. You <em> never </em>gave a shit! You don't get to try to comfort me right now."</p><p>"That's not true-"</p><p>"Then why are you doing this? Why do you keep making me do this?" </p><p>"I'm not making you do anything," Tucker's voice was steady, like he was reciting facts, leaving no room for argument. The sky is blue. Two plus two is four. You consented, so shut up and do what I want. "You agreed."</p><p>"Fuck off." </p><p>Ed wiggled his way out from under the man’s arm and sat up before he even realized what he was doing. The air hit his exposed body, sent goosebumps up his flesh, but it was still a warmer place to be than Tucker's hold. He stumbled, still-sore, from the bed, and began to scour the floor for his boxers before he could give himself the chance to talk himself out of it. </p><p>His emotions were a frenzy, tearing him up from the inside out, ripping any thought but pure, unhinged rage away from him. He knew he was probably making a mistake, but he was so pissed he couldn’t force himself to care.</p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p>“I’m going back to my room,” he spotted his boxers and slid them over his body.</p><p>Tucker peeled the blanket off of his chest and stood from the bed. “You don’t get to just leave, Edward.”</p><p>“Oh yeah?” With shaky hands, he slipped his tank-top on. “Watch me.”</p><p>Tucker sighed. “Stop being a brat and come here.”</p><p>Ed wiped his tears with his forearm and turned to glare at the man. “We've already done two rounds. I'm done."</p><p>Tucker furrowed his eyebrows back at him. “You’re finished when I say you’re finished. Get over here before I do something I’ll regret.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Edward,” Tucker’s tone was dangerous. “You’re being irrational. I don’t want to have to punish you for this.”</p><p>Ed crossed his arms. “You’ll find a reason to hurt me either way.”</p><p>“That’s not true.”</p><p>“Isn’t it? Because I’m starting to feel like no matter what I do, you find a way to make me regret it,” Ed sat down on a nearby chair and aggressively slipped his foot through one of the legs of his pants. His hands were almost shaking too hard to get it on the first try. He kept his glare strong and his voice as even as he could. “I paid your price every time you asked, every time you dragged me away from my brother and into here. I don't owe you anything."</p><p>“You came to <em> me,</em>” Tucker pursed his lips. “You came to <em> my </em>door begging for insurance that I wouldn’t kick you out and I gave it to you. You don’t get to be angry at me for your decisions, Edward.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Ed laughed and ran a shaky hand through his hair, before gripping the strands hard enough to hurt. "Yeah, I did. I came to you, and I trusted you, and I hate myself for it every goddamn day.”</p><p>“I gave you what you wanted," Tucker set his jaw. "And you know you enjoyed it.”</p><p>“You are <em> such </em> a liar,” Ed stared at him with wide, incredulous eyes. His voice was hysteric, almost entertained, because there were too many emotions, and he didn’t know where else to put them. “All the fucking time, that’s all you do, isn’t it? You lie, and you- you manipulate, and you take what you want without giving a single thought to anybody else.”</p><p>Tucker wouldn’t ever admit responsibility, would he? Ed paid his debts, he had the sex, he shut his mouth and he did everything he was told. He came back, day after day, and it never stopped. It was a constant loop, a never ending cycle of misery and fear and pain. And Tucker <em>still </em>wouldn’t acknowledge it, what he was doing, even now. He pretended that it was for Ed’s sake, that it was normal, and it wasn’t. It <em>wasn’t</em> okay, <em>he</em> wasn’t okay, none of this was fucking <em> okay.</em></p><p>“You were supposed to be my step-father,” Ed whispered, stopping in his movements as his fingers hovered over the fabric of his pants. “You were supposed to be there for Al and I. You were supposed to care about me.” </p><p>“I do care about you, Edward.”</p><p>“Only when I shut up and bend over,” Ed spat. “You don’t care. You never did. The only reason you even keep me around is so you can fuck me.”</p><p>“You’re being dramatic,” Tucker sighed and shook his head. “You’re in one of your moods again. Cut it out.”</p><p>“You had sex with me,” Ed’s voice was laced with disgust. He curled his upper lip. He’d known it, he’d known how gross it was, but something about speaking it out loud made him want to throw up. “Almost every day. And I let you do it.”</p><p>“Yes, Edward. I was there.”</p><p>“You took my virginity,” Ed stared down at his hands and his breaths grew more erratic. He vaguely recognized the heaviness in his chest, the tears that rolled down his cheeks and hit his thighs as he sat. They trailed down his flesh, over the bruises and on to the floor, and he watched them hit the ground with a growing sense of distress. “And you don’t even care, do you?” His eyes snapped up to meet Tucker’s. “You couldn’t care less, could you?”</p><p>Tucker crossed his arms, and he looked <em> bored. </em>Like somehow, Ed's emotions weren't worth a second thought. Like the fact that he was being torn apart from the inside out somehow didn't matter, beyond how entertaining it was to watch. “You agreed to it.”</p><p>“I didn’t have a choice! I- I fucking <em> hate </em>you,” Ed sobbed. “I hope you know that.”</p><p>“Edward-”</p><p>“Why can’t you just admit that you wanted to hurt me?” Ed cut him off. “Why won’t you just say you’re sorry?”</p><p>Tucker scowled. “We had a deal.” </p><p>“The deal was bullshit and you know it.”</p><p>“Really?" Tucker scoffed. "And why is that?” </p><p>The anger was outweighing the fear, but Tucker’s tone still left a shake in his knees. It made him wish time would stop long enough for him to calm down and escape. The seconds were passing in a frenzy that had Ed wanting to shut off until it was all over, and yet they moved far too fast as well. Almost as fast as his thoughts, which were almost as fast as his mouth. His emotions were on war’s path, and he wanted Tucker to understand that.</p><p>“Because you threatened to kick us out if I didn’t! You think I said yes because I <em> wanted </em> to?" Ed’s voice grew softer, and he swallowed. “You took my virginity. Why don’t you feel bad about hurting me?”</p><p>“If you’re wanting an apology, you’re not going to get one, Edward,” Tucker narrowed his eyes. “Stop being irrational and come here before I make you.”</p><p>“Fuck you! I’m going to my room,” Ed slipped his last pant leg up and stood, throwing his arm out to push Tucker from his path as he stormed towards the door.</p><p>“Edward,” Tucker barked. Or maybe snarled, or fucking- something, but all Ed knew in that moment was the rush of anger that was coursing through him. He vaguely realized that he should've probably been scared, but he should’ve done a lot of things different in his life, so who gave a fuck about his safety, anyways? “You’re not allowed to leave yet, I have something I need to talk to you about.”</p><p>Ed ignored him and kept walking. The door was a foot or two away, and he knew he’d feel better once there was some distance. Even if it was an artificial protection, he always calmed down when there was space between him and other people. </p><p>Tucker sighed. “I know you’ve been going through my things.” </p><p>Everything halted at once. His emotions, his body, his brain, and he noticed he’d stopped in place, his hand on the doorknob. Sweat trickled down his neck. It was almost distracting enough that he could focus on it, and not the impending realization that he was kinda fucked.</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.</p><p>“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice documents have gone missing?” Ed's back was still turned to the man, so he couldn't see his face, but his tone alone was enough to bring back unpleasant memories. “<em>Important </em> documents. Care to explain?”</p><p>Ed kept his gaze glued to the door, as if it would give him a good excuse if he begged with his eyes. It didn’t. He kept his hand on the knob, his mind clear aside from the thought that he needed to get out of there immediately. “That sucks, you should keep better track of your stuff.”</p><p>“Was it you or was it Alphonse?”<br/><br/>“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p><p>“Be honest, Edward.” </p><p>Ed turned to look at the man, trying to ignore how fast his heart was racing, trying to keep himself from shaking. Any sign he was fibbing could be used as ammo against him, though it felt like he had long since been shot at this point. There was a bullet in his chest the second he got too sloppy. He should’ve replaced those files earlier, and he was mentally kicking himself for being an idiot.</p><p>Ed had been digging his own grave for the past two minutes, and logically, he knew that. The fear was setting in now that he’d been forced to pause, though, and the anger seemed a lot less important. He should’ve stayed in bed. He should’ve taken another round and gotten over himself. He was only making this worse, wasn’t he?</p><p>He hadn’t even gotten a real answer. He’d just yelled and made everything worse. He always seemed to fucking make everything worse.</p><p>“I <em> honestly </em>don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Ed said anyways, because he had already committed to his story, and if he was anything, it was stubborn.</p><p>“You’re a bad liar.” </p><p>“I’m going to my room.”</p><p>“I’ll tell the brass about the transmutation if you don't tell me the truth.”</p><p>Nevermind, he hadn’t just been shot in the chest. This was an active firing squad. </p><p>Ed scowled, debated his options, and then took a deep breath. </p><p>“Fine,” he crossed his arms defiantly. “So what if I was?”</p><p>“Those are my things, Edward,” Tucker stared from where he stood a few feet away, but with the way his gaze bore into Ed, it felt more like there was no space between them at all. “Tell me why.”</p><p>Ed tried his best to be rational, to not shut down, but the way that Tucker was glaring at him really did make his throat tight. He swallowed around a lump. There wasn't a good way to spin this, but if Tucker was going to go into this full steam ahead, he couldn’t fold. He needed to be smart about it, maybe even spin it in a way that could get him what he needed, too. </p><p>“You know,” Ed started, feeling a little more like a cornered animal lashing out one last time than he did moments before- Actually, he realized he was deluding himself again. That was exactly what had been happening this entire time. “I’ve searched for days, and I can’t find any trace of Nina’s mom from after you two split. Why’s that?”</p><p>Tucker set his jaw, and Ed’s knees felt a little weaker in response. “You shouldn’t stick your nose in places it doesn’t belong.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“It’s a good way to get hurt, Edward.”</p><p>"So you <em>are</em> hiding something?"</p><p>"I never said that."</p><p>Ed leveled his glare. “Did she really abandon Nina, Tucker? Or did you lie about that too?”</p><p>There was silence, for a moment. Silence filled with nothing but Tucker's cold, calculating gaze and the sound of Ed’s quickening heart, which mingled with the familiar static that told him none of this was actually real. Any second he'd wake up and he'd be safe again.</p><p>“You have no proof that I turned her into the chimera,” Tucker took a step forward. His eyes darted towards the dresser next to Ed, then the door behind him, and then back again. He was an animal stalking prey, a cat revving up for launch. His strides were methodical, threatening, a promise to make the next few minutes hurt, and they spiked the adrenaline in Ed’s veins. “It’s just like everything else, nobody would believe you.”</p><p>“That you what?” Ed’s eyes widened. “What the hell are you talking about?”</p><p>He stared on, for a moment, his brain mulling over the words, and he almost laughed, because seriously, what <em> was </em>he talking about? </p><p>But then something shifted.</p><p>And the first thing that hit him was shock. </p><p>Ed had thought the man had threatened her into going off the grid, maybe scared her out of the country, but-</p><p>Tucker's words left him reeling. There wasn’t another word to describe the emotion that went over him at that second, the crashing of information that seemed to overload his mind and body both at once. He had to be joking, right? That wasn’t very funny. </p><p>But with the way that Tucker was scowling, all knit eyebrows, squared shoulders, mouth sewn tight, so tight that the words were strained to reach Ed’s ears, or maybe Ed wasn't hearing anything at all, because his brain was shutting down, and yet-</p><p>Ed knew he was serious. </p><p>And so, the second thing that hit him was understanding. Cold, clear understanding, because everything snapped together in an instant. He should’ve known. He should’ve known the second he realized there was no trace of Lillian, the moment he called her family and they said they hadn’t heard from her in two years. He’d been fooling himself, living in fantasies, so desperate for a way out that he wouldn’t look at the truth right in front of him. </p><p>Of course a human chimera could talk. He knew enough about biology to understand how you could fuse people and animals to-</p><p>Bile crawled up his throat at the very thought. </p><p>Tucker used his wife. He <em> used </em> his <em> wife. </em>Ed’s brain couldn’t process it, no matter how many times the words echoed in his ears, no matter how many things suddenly made sense. Ed had always known, on a logical level, that he was an asshole. Tucker didn’t care about Al or him, and Ed wondered sometimes if he even gave a damn about Nina, but on an emotional level, Ed had wanted him to be a decent person in the end. He wanted none of the threats to actually mean anything. He'd hoped they were just that- Empty words to scare Ed into doing what he was told. </p><p>He'd somehow convinced himself that the man was a bad step-father, but perhaps a decent person.</p><p>And the illusion came tumbling down. The smoke cleared from the mirrors and the past three months of Ed’s life reflected back at him. The image was painful and shattered and <em>fucking hell</em>, the bags under his eyes and the bruises on his body gained a whole new level of meaning. They were stark against too pale, ashen skin that was once tanned from the sun's warmth, sticking out like a sore thumb and shredding every inch of his being in the realization that Tucker <em> didn’t </em>care. He couldn’t care. There wasn’t any humanity left in him, you couldn’t do something like that and be a person, much less a decent person. Much less a step-father, or a supporting figure, or anything but a horrible mess of something fucking monstrous. </p><p>It was so clear, everything seemed so clear, and yet it made so little sense. </p><p>Ed couldn’t tell if he was shaking from the fear, or the lividity. But he was frozen in place, he vaguely realized he was frozen in place, but it was kind of hard to tell, because everything was spinning. His emotions, his mind, his memories, all forming the crescendo of blood, which roared in his ears. It was so loud that it nearly drowned everything else out, but-</p><p>The lividity won over the fear. It was definitely the outrage that made him tremble. That made his eyes sting, his breath catch, his mind form words as quickly as it could without short-circuiting completely.</p><p>“You fucking <em> what.</em>”</p><p>Tucker's eyes widened by a marginal degree. Ed may have found that funny, because he finally understood the 'deer in the headlights' expression that people talked about, if not for the fact that he was a dangerous mix between furious and very, very scared.</p><p>"Oh," Tucker’s expression was back to indifference. The change was so sudden it was almost jarring, the heat of emotion seeping out at once. It left behind something cold, void. There really was nothing under the surface, no great remorse that the man held. "I assumed that you knew."</p><p>"You fucking bastard, she was your wife!" </p><p>"Yes," Tucker frowned. "She was."</p><p>"Are you fucking insane? You-you actually-" Ed cut himself off. </p><p>His mind was reeling, seconds later. It was still filling in details and playing catch up, but his body knew terror when it felt it. His hands were trembling, useless by his side, and he barely realized he was backing away until his body was flush with the door, crammed between the dresser and the corner.</p><p>"Nina doesn’t have a mother because of you," Ed swallowed around the lump in his throat. "You're fucking horrible. She was a person. You used a person<em>." </em></p><p>"You're just as bad as me, Edward," Tucker took another step forward, his eyes darting between Ed and the dresser. "You're only here because you committed the taboo. We've both done horrible things."</p><p>“You turned your <em> wife </em> into a <em> chimera. </em>”</p><p>“You’re the same, trying to bring back your mother-”</p><p>“Don’t stand there and try to justify your bullshit to me!” Ed regained awareness of his rationality, and he fumbled for the door handle behind him. His breaths were shallow and fleeting, his whole body running on fear and instinct alone. He needed to get out of there. He couldn’t stay after this, it wasn’t safe for him, and it wasn’t safe for Nina, or Al, or anyone. “You’re fucking crazy.”</p><p>His hand hit the doorknob, and he gave it a sharp turn. </p><p>It was locked. He jangled it again, more frantically, but it still wouldn’t give. He tried once more, casting his gaze towards it, desperate in every movement. Every flick of his wrist, every way his eyes darted downwards.</p><p>It wouldn't open, but he didn't have time to spare, so Ed brought his hands together, ready to clap, ready to deconstruct this entire fucking house if that was what it took to get out of there-</p><p>But in the time he'd looked away, Tucker lunged at him and flung the drawer to the dresser open. Before Ed could finish, Tucker pulled something out, and-</p><p>There was a barrel in Ed's face. </p><p>Ed wasn’t able to register anything else. He couldn’t take in how much his legs were shaking, or how his cheeks were still damp. Tucker’s furrowed eyebrows, his wide eyes, slightly crazed- no, definitely crazed. Nothing but black metal, slightly shining, very deadly, a quick end to his life, and it stared him in the eyes, between the eyes. A pistol, he realized. The man had a pistol, hidden in his room, and it was pointed at Ed’s face. </p><p>He should’ve done a better job searching when he’d gone through the man’s things. He should’ve sucked it up after he found the pictures and kept looking. Now there was a weapon pointed at him, and he could’ve avoided it if he’d been smarter. God, he felt so fucking stupid.</p><p>“Drop your hands, Edward.” </p><p>What the fuck was happening? Ed wasn’t sure, no part of him was able to wrap his brain around anything at that moment. It was all unreal. Nothing felt real. He swallowed, and he lowered his hands, but his eyes stayed firmly glued to the pistol.</p><p>“Good."</p><p>"What are you doing?” Ed’s voice was soft as he spoke, disbelieving. “Why do you have a-" </p><p>Tucker brought the gun down. Ed’s eyes widened, and he was aware of himself just long enough to catch how dumb he was, letting his body tense like this, giving Tucker an opening- He needed to move, dammit!</p><p>A sharp pain echoed through his head, and before Ed got the chance, everything went dark.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Due to being back in school and running out of pre-written material, updates are probably going to slow down about 5-7 days between chapters. I'm not abandoning/dropping the story, but I don't really have as much time to put into it as I did a few weeks ago. </p><p>With that, please stay safe everyone, and have a lovely day &lt;333</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW self harm/blood</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If there were three things Ed would never recommend, they were human transmutation, getting knocked out, and then getting knocked out and tied up. </p><p>He didn't know he was tied up, at first. He didn't know where he was, period, but he knew it was dark. Musty. It smelled slightly electric, slightly fried. As he blearily cracked his eyes open, the flickering, dull light only made his headache worse.</p><p>His mouth was parched. He knew he was strapped to something- A chair, it felt like. He was bound to a chair, his wrists attached to the armrests and his ankles to the wooden legs. The seat below him was unforgiving against that familiar soreness. He squirmed, trying to get comfortable, but it barely helped. His chest was tethered to the back of it, almost tight enough to constrict his breath. He still had his clothes on, so he figured that was a good sign if nothing else. </p><p>He clenched and unclenched his fists experimentally. His flesh hand moved just fine, but the motion made his automail creak. It didn’t take more than a few seconds of retesting before the realization hit him like a sack of bricks that it had been tampered with. His port was all finicky, the nerves twitched and lit up in goosebumps if he bent his fingers the wrong way. That was decidedly not good.</p><p>His head was aching and it only grew worse the more awake he became. The ringing in his ears drowned out everything but the sounds of his breath and there was something matted- blood, probably- in his hair. After a few seconds of sitting there and trying to get his bearings, he squeezed his eyes shut and put everything he had into focusing.</p><p>He licked his lips and took a deep breath. Step one of waking up somewhere with no idea of how you got there: Try to recall what happened. That’s basically common sense, right?  </p><p>There was a gun. Ed knit his eyebrows. Right, he had been angry, and then there was a gun. Ed had listened to the crack as the metal met his head, and then he’d been out cold-</p><p>But now there was scratching. The scratching of chalk. Thick, drawn lines of chalk, the kind that adorns basement floors. Which made sense because the room was dark like one, dank like one, so he was in a basement, most likely. </p><p>The scratching stopped.  </p><p>"Edward," The voice alone was enough to bring everything back in an instant, an instant that left Ed snarling and foaming at the mouth or might've, if not for how delirious he still felt. "You're awake."</p><p>"Asshole," Ed spat- or meant to, really, but it came out choked and strained.</p><p>Between his vision spinning in nauseating circles and the low lighting, Ed could barely make out more details about Tucker than his figure. But Ed still recognized his shoulders, his stance, his footsteps. At each feature, Ed’s mind screamed danger like the bang of a gun marks the start of a race. The panic built, reverberated through the room. His pulse hit the ground running, leaving some of his previous disorientedness behind in the process. He took in a sharp breath and it turned into multiple, his lungs desperately sucking in air like at any moment, it'd be taken from him completely. His thoughts were still a bit garbled, but his body knew a threat when it felt one. </p><p>He was aware, now. Hyper-aware. </p><p>Ed reminded himself, once more, that Tucker didn’t care. Couldn’t care. The mirrors were clear of smoke and the sharp, jagged edges of the glass were cutting at Ed, punishing him for his disillusionment. </p><p>He really should’ve seen the signs. He wasn’t even sure which ones he meant when he said that, at this point, because they pointed every which way and made him feel even more lost the longer he followed them. Even more stupid. He cursed his shitty fucking life for not coming with a map, or at least a guidebook, because he was expected to navigate this by himself and he honestly didn’t know how. </p><p>Tucker turned his <em>wife</em> into a <em>chimera</em>. </p><p>Ed was still reeling. He wondered how long he’d been here. He wondered if anybody even noticed he was gone. </p><p>The thought that something might’ve happened while he was asleep honestly didn’t make him feel any better. He debated if it’d be better to have no idea, or worse, or something in between. Maybe it would've been easier to not remember after it was done.</p><p>But Ed doubted that was the case, the more he thought about it. He knew Tucker liked making him react. He liked to hurt him. He liked to draw it out, make him suffer, watch him squirm and hyperventilate and cry. Tucker didn't care. </p><p>
  <em>He didn't care. </em>
</p><p>And it was sinking in, that Ed was tied up, and this man was fucking bonkers. Ed couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t do anything before, either, but at least he could move, for the most part. You can almost pretend you’re not helpless when there’s no rope involved.</p><p>Tucker stood from where he was crouched, drawing. The shelves near him were decorated with glinting glass bottles and books with weathered spines. A single lantern was perched on the desk. Its flame crackled softly and warm light permeated throughout the space, illuminated everything but the corners in a soft glow. Across the room, Alexander snored peacefully, curled comfortably on a dog bed that looked remarkably plush.</p><p>There were transmutation circles on the walls, but it was too dark and Ed's head hurt too much to even begin to properly decipher them. He caught glimpses of the symbols for carbon and oxygen. Ed had never been in Tucker’s alchemy lab before, but he knew it was in the basement, so he guessed his hunch was correct.</p><p>Tucker came better into view and Ed noticed the man’s crossed arms and pinched eyebrows. Pinched in the way that Ed understood to mean Tucker was pissed and trying to disguise that as minorly inconvenienced. </p><p>“You really shouldn’t have gone through my things, Edward,” he rapped his finger against his forearm lightly. The repetitive motion didn’t serve to do anything but spike Ed’s anxiety.</p><p>Ed tilted his gaze up and scowled with every last bit of strength he could spare. The wound on his head yelled for him to shut his eyes and give it some rest. He barely realized he was wincing until his eyebrows were knit so harshly that it hurt. His face was strained and he might’ve found it embarrassing if he could've bothered to draw up that kind of emotion. He was a little too distracted by the circumstances at hand to worry about his pride, sue him. </p><p> “I can tell that now, thanks for the warning,” Ed sounded more confident than he felt, and he felt more confident than he knew he should be. Because the terror was there, definitely, but after the initial shock, it was fading into the numbness that meant he’d probably hit his quota for the day for stress. His brain had had enough of emotions. It was about one bad thing away from shutting down completely and sending him off the deep end.</p><p>What that meant, exactly, he wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t trying to find out. He didn’t have time to panic and he didn’t have time to lose his mind- He needed to focus. His head hurt, yeah, probably concussed, what the fuck ever. That didn’t matter. He could deal with how messed up this was after he got out of there, step two was living long enough to do that.</p><p>Ed drew in a deep breath and forced words from his parched, sore throat. “Let me go.”</p><p>“Not happening,” Tucker said. </p><p>Ed might’ve scowled, but honestly, he hadn't really expected asking to work. It’s not like Tucker ever listened to him before, starting now would just be weird. </p><p>“I didn’t want to have to do this, but I’ll admit that I am curious,” Tucker paused, his hand on his chin, lost in thought. “It’ll be a shame, though, that your gifts will be lost to the world.”</p><p>Ed was almost glad he was sitting, at that moment, because he knew his legs were shaking. His automail rattled slightly and even though he felt so desensitized, his body was revving to launch. There was a chill snaking its way up him, through the spaces in his ribs, coiling and tightening around his chest until it burned. At any moment something would shift and he’d be submerged into a frenzy of emotions and tears. The fact that he could feel the panic attack building honestly just made the entire process worse. </p><p>He wondered what Gracia would do, right now. </p><p>“So you’ve finally had enough of me? You’re gonna kill me, just like that?” Ed chuckled lowly. It was strained. He leaned his head back against the top of the chair and closed his eyes. The wood dug into his neck at an uncomfortable angle, but it was less painful than supporting the weight of his injury by himself. “You’re a sick bastard.”</p><p>“No, Edward, not kill you,” Tucker took a step towards the table and picked up a toolbox. He set it down a few feet away from Ed and opened the panels. Three tiers worth of tools peaked out, glinting metal that shone softly beneath the dim ambiance the room held. “But I need you to tell me how to detach your automail.”</p><p>Well, that explained the arm problem. Tucker had probably tried to take it off while he was asleep and then given up after he realized it wasn’t as easy as it looked. Thank fuck for Winry and her craftsmanship. And from what Ed could tell, his leg worked fine, so that was a win for now. </p><p>“Like hell I will.”</p><p>“You’d prefer for me to rip it off?”</p><p>Ed grinned. It was sharp edges and animalistic, nothing good held within it, nothing but the flits of anger he could draw out. He glared harder through slitted eyes, down towards where the man had crouched. “If you do that, you really might kill me,” Tucker raised an eyebrow, and Ed elaborated. “You do realize it’s connected to my body, right? Arteries and nerves and shit? If you mess it up, the signals will go haywire and you’ll electrocute me.”</p><p>Tucker’s eyes widened just enough to be noticeable. He nodded and seemed to take note of Ed's words, his jaw setting ever so slightly in thought. Ed had to stop himself from grinning because <em>somebody</em> didn’t do his research before he kidnapped him. </p><p>It was a partial lie. It’d shock Ed, maybe, but the chances of it killing him were incredibly low, if not non-existent. But if Tucker didn’t want him dead, stalling was really all he could do. He needed something, anything, to focus on- And if he could keep the man occupied, he could give himself enough time to get out of there. </p><p>It had never been fair, before, Ed had been threatened into a disadvantage. He hadn’t had the option of fleeing, because running meant having his brother sent to the lab-</p><p>But situations like this were where he thrived. He could come at it with everything he had, now, because no fucking way was he staying after this. He didn’t have a plan and he honestly didn’t need one. He just needed to escape. He could do this. Maybe he was useless at everything else, but he was a quick thinker and he knew he was a quick thinker. He needed to believe that he could get away from there, or he’d spiral down before he even realized what was happening.</p><p>He couldn’t afford to do that. Nina and Al couldn’t afford for him to do that. </p><p>Tucker thinned his lips and sorted through the tools. He drew a few out and set them on the ground next to him, each hitting the concrete with a soft clatter. “Then tell me how to do it properly.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Tucker examined a wrench. A few seconds passed as he glanced from it to Ed, seemingly debating something, before sighing. “You’re just making this harder for yourself,” Tucker said.</p><p>Ed scoffed. “And?”</p><p>“I don’t want to have to hurt you more than necessary.”</p><p>“Oh, we’re well fucking past that, aren’t we?” Ed clenched his fist and stared Tucker in the eyes, trying to regain some control by doing it, but honestly, it was a useless endeavor. He still felt trapped. He still felt scared. “What are you going to do, huh? Make me have sex with you? Knock me out? Tie me up?”</p><p>“Just tell me how to detach your automail.” </p><p>“Why don’t <em>you</em> tell me why the hell I’m here?”</p><p>Tucker crossed his arms. The wrench hung loosely over his left forearm, held between the fingers of his right hand. It was precariously close to slipping through the man’s palm and hitting the ground. Ed kind of found it distracting. </p><p>“Then you’re just going to scream at me more,” Tucker stood. The motion was languid and with it, Ed snapped back to attention. His wide eyes fixated on the man as he took a step forward, wrench in hand, and Ed knew exactly what he was planning to do.</p><p>Ed thrashed away in response. The restraints pulled on him, refusing to give even as he fought with everything he had. They bit into his skin, rubbed the flesh raw, created blistered patches, and it only made him struggle more. His breath was coming in shorter and shorter spurts, catching occasionally as he tried, desperately, to keep himself calm.</p><p>It was then, in the thick fog of his exhausted distress, that an idea hit him. </p><p>“Al!” Ed screamed. “Alphonse!”</p><p>“Alphonse can’t hear you,” Tucker took another step forward. His shoes hit the concrete and tapped ever so slightly, though Ed could barely hear it over the sound of his own ragged breaths. “I know he waits in your room until we’re done and I know he doesn’t leave. He isn’t even aware that you’re down here.”</p><p>“Alphonse!” He ignored Tucker and kept calling. “Al! Al help!”</p><p>“Edward, you’re giving me a headache.” </p><p>“Alphonse-!”</p><p>A palm drilled into Ed’s cheek and his head snapped back to meet the chair. The dark splotches that adorned his vision made themselves known once more and only grew angrier. His ears were ringing, singing along with the faint hum of the underground. There was a faint pang in his mouth, something metallic. He squinted through the pain, his eyes opening just enough to realize that Tucker was in front of him, his hand still raised.</p><p>“Quit that,” Tucker’s shoulders were tense and his mouth was a thin line. Ed stared at him, wide-eyed, the sting on his cheek growing into a dull ache. There was copper on his tongue and he realized he’d bitten it. </p><p>Tucker rarely hit him. He really must’ve been angry. </p><p>That was fine, Ed wanted him upset. If Ed was going to be subject to whatever the hell Tucker was playing at, he was going to do it being a pain in the ass. He would do it fighting, in any way he could. </p><p>This was sincerity. Tucker wasn’t trying to hide his intentions. He was hurting Ed and he was doing it on purpose. Ed knew he was a target. Tucker wasn’t pretending to care and he wasn’t touching him like he did, either. That made it easier. Ed liked it more this way. </p><p>“Or what?” Ed scoffed. </p><p>Tucker crossed his arms and narrowed his gaze. He looked him up and down, and at that moment, Ed knew he was being analyzed. “I could still kill you, you know,” he said after a moment.</p><p>Ed’s whole body tensed involuntarily. His throat was tight and every single muscle was filled to the brim with adrenaline, trembling as blood roared in his ears and the smell of fear and sweat clung to his clothes. It sucked coherent thought out of him like a leech.</p><p>“You said earlier that you wouldn’t," he swallowed thickly. His eyes were the size of dinner plates and his voice was breaking, far too tiny, splintering some of the syllables until they were whispers. "You said you didn’t want to hurt me more than necessary.”</p><p>“Yes, but I could,” Tucker put his hand on Ed’s cheek. He stroked it softly, his thumb swiping against the bone. Ed jerked his face away and shivered as the man spoke, “It’d be very easy, Edward. You couldn’t do a thing, tied up like this, so keep being a brat and see if I change my mind.”</p><p>The lingering sensation from the hand tingled so much that it itched. Ed had the urge to scratch at the skin until it was raw and bloodied and he couldn’t feel it anymore, until every trace of the touch was gone. The words were so much worse than the caress had been, though, because the feeling of having his body handled without his consent was something he was used to. It rotted him from the inside out, but it didn’t <em>literally</em> murder him. </p><p>But right now, Tucker could kill him if he wanted to, and Ed wouldn’t be able to stop it. He'd known that, he'd been trying to ignore it, faking confidence, but all it had taken was that one phrase and Ed's entire brain was shutting down. He’d been in these kinds of situations before, he’d brushed against the brink of the abyss too many times for comfort-</p><p>But this was different. This wasn’t a punishment from Truth, or starvation on an island, or anything impersonal out to get him. This was another human. Another human, who was trying to hurt him on purpose. Ed may have liked it more when Tucker was being honest about that, but it was so much scarier, too. There was no illusion of control. Ed wasn't the one calling the shots here. Tucker was, he always was.</p><p>Ed didn’t have a plan. He didn’t. He was tied up and vulnerable. He couldn’t even move, much less fight, or defend himself.</p><p>He needed to find a way to get out, he needed to focus, but his brain kept reminding him that at any moment, there could be a knife and his flesh and he’d bleed out like a pig with its belly slit for the harvest. That was kind of how he felt, actually, like meat hanging from a hook in an abandoned warehouse. Rotting as it’s picked at by animals and maggots. Forgotten. Left to the wolves in the forest.</p><p>“You’re not going to, though,” Ed’s tone was laced with a rash sort of desperation. He worried his lip and played the only bargaining chip he had, the only advantage he possessed here. “You like hurting me too much. You can’t do that if I’m dead. You <em>need</em> me alive.”</p><p>“I’m going to be in prison by the end of the week either way,” Tucker smiled. It was fleeting and indifferent, as if he’d already just accepted every word he said as fact. “The government will take you out of my custody and put you into somebody else’s care. I have absolutely nothing to lose here, so don’t test your luck.”</p><p>There was a level of resignation in every word. Like Tucker had thought this through and he knew it couldn’t be helped. That made the hairs on the back of Ed’s neck stand, because now he was wondering how long the bastard had been planning this. </p><p>Ed opened his mouth to speak, to say something to turn this in his favor, but all that came out was a whimper. There was nothing he could say. He had <em>nothing</em>. There were no offerings for his life other than his body, but he obviously wasn’t here to have sex, because he’d know by now. </p><p>He felt a lot smaller than he did a minute ago. The clouds that obscured his thoughts to keep the brokenness of his mind hidden were dissipating. The numbness was leaving and as the vapors cleared, he realized how empty he was. Not unfeeling, but like something was missing, something that had been taken from him sometime within the last few months. </p><p>And there was a crushing weight that was trying to force him to just give up. Give up and beg, plead, do whatever he had to live.</p><p>The soul-deep, chilling fear that only Tucker could seem to instill in him was present on a deeper level than any physical scar or mark, more painful than even the metal drilled into his tendons. Ed liked to pretend that it wasn’t there. He liked to tell himself he’d seen it all, so there was nothing to be frightened of. </p><p>But as much as he talked back and acted difficult when he could, it didn’t change the fact that he always stood down when Tucker told him to. Because he was scared. This was <em>scary</em>. </p><p>Tucker enjoyed hurting him too much to kill him, but what if he didn’t? What if this had been the plan all along? Break him down, bit by bit, and then finish the job when there was nothing left. He could’ve been 6 feet under months ago had Tucker grown bored of him or decided he wasn’t worth having around anymore. It would’ve been an easy cover-up, too, Ed got into trouble more often than not. He could’ve died. He could die.</p><p>It didn’t matter if he hated Tucker. It didn’t matter if Tucker hated him. It didn’t change what happened, and it didn’t change the fact that Ed was terrified, so out of his mind with panic that he wasn’t even there. Any minute he might just melt into the cracks between the concrete below him or dissipate into nothingness. He wished he could. He wished he could just close his eyes and rearrange the molecules in his body until he ended up someplace else, some place safe.</p><p>Tucker’s presence was a massive hole in his mental walls. Ed pasted it over with anger and denial, but that didn’t change the fact that his defenses crumbled and rotted when nobody was looking. There wasn’t much left of him, now, nothing but atoms and flesh and metal that he knew was his, but didn’t feel that way. </p><p>There was a crater where he used to be. There had been so many sieges on the barriers he put up to protect himself that it honestly felt like there wasn’t much <em>to</em> protect anymore. Nothing felt like it was his. Not his body, or his life, or his consent. He’d been scraped at and chipped at until he was sculpted into something entirely wrong. He had no power. In here and in that room, he was only ever an item to pin down and use and hurt. He may as well have not even been a person.</p><p>He felt like an object, like a thing anyone could stick their dick in and get away with it, all because he was too weak to stop it himself. He hated it. That <em>wasn't </em>him, he was a person.</p><p>Ed didn’t like this. He really, really didn’t like this. Tucker was too close, a few inches away, and he was too goddamn close. Everything around Ed was suffocating him. The stuffy air, the faint smell of mildew, the flickering light from a nearby lamp that strained his eyes. It was too dark and too damp and the restraints that bound him were too tight. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t <em>move</em>.</p><p>The shiver that had been slithering up his body and into the cavity of his chest tightened its hold on his heart. It strangled it and the icy, frigid sensation was so cold it burned and sent every nerve into an inferno that demanded he fight for his life. </p><p>“Get the fuck away from me,” Ed’s eyes were wide. Constricted pupils contrasted against bloodshot white, tears pooling within them until they threatened to spill. Deep, anxious lines marked the furrow in his eyebrows, raised and slightly pained. His lip was quivering and his body was wound so tightly, flexed so harshly that the rope dug even deeper trenches into his arms and chest, making a grave for him with flesh rubbed raw. His heart was stuttering and stopping and trying to find a rhythm above the fuzz and the fear that made everything that much sharper. </p><p>He kept his gaze solely focused on Tucker, every small movement, every down-turned twitch of the man’s mouth. He was biding time once more and trying to prepare himself for the worst.</p><p>“I said go away!” The words were strained and the syllables hitched with emotion. He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a choked gasp. “Leave me alone.”</p><p>“No, I don’t think I will,” Tucker was still gazing at him with that hungry, curious expression. He was the same as always, forever predatory and unapologetically present. Every fleck of color in his steel, cold blue irises was threatening and wrong and sent chills up Ed’s spine in the form of memories. </p><p>That familiar anticipation twisted into Ed’s gut like a knife and yanked a sharp breath from his lips. Before Tucker was only scary because Ed knew what was coming and the suspense drilled into him every second he waited for things to go wrong. Now the man was terrifying because Ed had no clue what was happening, or why he was there, beyond the fact that he knew something he shouldn’t. </p><p>Tucker was closer, now, touching his automail arm, attempting to find the best way to disconnect it. He peaked around the back of the chair and through Ed’s shoulder port before his fingers grazed over one of the insulated wires that weren’t plated by metal. </p><p>Ed thrashed once more and tried to twist his body away, but the rope was unforgiving as it cut into his chest and stole the air from his lungs. He wheezed painfully. Tucker put a hand on his shoulder to keep him still, and the contact was acid that burnt Ed’s skin. The last slabs of stone that constructed his once well-built, fortified walls were melting beneath Tucker’s touch. </p><p>Maybe with alchemy, Ed could reconstruct the elements of his defenses and fix himself in the process. Maybe he could gather the fractured, devastated parts of his mind and reform them into something more fortified with a clap. If he could live long enough to try, he just might do it. There were a lot of things he wanted to do if he got out of there. </p><p>Ed’s eyes glanced around the room and he tried once again to find a means of escape. Instead, they settled on the gun on the table that brought him into this mess, and then the ropes binding him, and then the door that meant the outside world, which he could never see again if he wasn’t careful. </p><p>He couldn’t let himself spiral, but even though he was a quick thinker, he was also used to having his body be his, his mind being stable, and his brother at his side. He had none of those things. He was lost at sea during a storm and nobody heard his screams above the strikes of lightning. Nobody but the person behind him, who enjoyed it, who fucking got off on it. </p><p>“Stop,” The word was something between a sob and a whisper and a plea. It spilled through his lips over and over until it was a mantra, a prayer to a God who wasn’t listening. It didn’t ground him or calm him or do anything, really, other than dissipate into thin air like he'd never said anything at all. "St-<em>Stop</em>."</p><p>His eyes were stinging and his lip was trembling and his head hurt too goddamn much. The last shattered bits of his determination were trying to use their edges to slice through the mental fog, the injury, the child in his brain that shut off when things went too far. He was being cut to bits from the inside out. And still the smell of sweat and terror hung in the air, mocking him, potent as the salt in his mouth. </p><p>He never understood the philosophy behind the falling trees in forests not making sounds until now, because no matter how many words fumbled from his lips, how many times he jerked and shook and wept, he drew no reaction. Ed wondered if he was even really speaking, or if it was something else possessing his body and he was just watching from the sidelines. It certainly didn’t feel like him.</p><p>The word, words, phrase, phrases, sobs, pleas- he wasn’t sure how many times they were said or how long he sat there, begging, but they had everything Ed had left put into them, and in their wake, he was left grappling for scraps. His energy was drained from flailing and his head was still pounding, pulsating deep staccato beats that resounded notes of pain throughout him. It felt like it was threatening to split open. From there it would spray his blood, his cerebral matter, any remaining intelligent thought onto the cold, basement floor. </p><p>Tucker didn’t stop. He never did. Instead, he hummed and pulled on something. A sharp pain tugged up from Ed’s arm and he let out a sound between a yelp and a whimper. </p><p>Ed's thrashing got more half-hearted as his mind began to process that it was a useless endeavor. He was just wearing himself out, he knew that, but going limp felt like acceptance. He wound up his chest and slammed it against the rope once more, still hoping that at any moment it might snap and he'd be free. Tucker’s grip got more forceful. </p><p>He fiddled with something else. Ed couldn’t see the man from where he stood behind him, but he could imagine his eyes as they darted between the metal, the wires, and then back to Ed, concentration present in his thinned lips. Ed didn’t want to have to think about him, but the mental image of his expressions was seared into his mind like a brand. They wouldn’t go away no matter how many times he sat in the bath with his loofa and tried to scrub the impressions off of his dirtied flesh.</p><p>“Why am I here?” Ed asked after a moment. He squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his head down. His forceful struggles had turned into squirms which had faded completely, until just breathing felt like too much effort. He accepted defeat, in this, at least. He'd known it wouldn't stop. But that didn't make it any better, because he also knew he was going to bruise thanks to this, and then he'd have to look at reminders of his failure for the next few weeks. </p><p>If he lived that long.</p><p>“What do you want from me?” Ed asked.</p><p>“I want you to answer my question.”</p><p>“You still haven’t told me why.” </p><p>Tucker didn’t respond. After a moment, Ed scoffed and rolled his eyes. </p><p>“Are you going to keep me hostage down here? Is that it?” Ed clenched his fist at the thought, before searching, desperately for words he could use to convince him to <em>not</em> do that. “People are going to come for me eventually. And then I’m going to tell them all about your little experiment and what a horrible piece of shit you really are.” </p><p>“Edward,” Tucker chuckled, his voice faintly amused. It made something nasty curdle in Ed's gut. “I have no plans for keeping you down here forever. I hadn’t wanted to do this in the first place- Debated it, maybe, but..” He trailed off. “Now I just have to get this over with sooner rather than later.”</p><p>“Get what over with?” </p><p>Tucker didn't respond, but he did continue to trace his fingers over Ed’s port in silence. </p><p>Ed furrowed his eyebrows. He shifted his head for a better view of where Tucker stood behind him and hated how he <em>still</em> couldn’t see what was happening. The only hints he got were the touches and tugs and the single hand on his shoulder. He wondered if Tucker was actually finding a good way to take his arm off or if he was just doing this because he knew it fucked with Ed's head. </p><p>Ed honestly didn't know which was worse, but thanks to it, his reality was mingling with the ghosts of sex that haunted his passing thoughts. He ignored one particularly nasty memory and tried to focus on plans for getting out of there, rather than what it felt like when he was belly-down, pinned to the floor by his shoulders, and there was something up his-</p><p>Nope. Not thinking about it. He wasn't going to think about it. His heart was racing and his stomach was spasming as it tried to force him to heave his anxiety, to cleanse himself of everything in the form of bile that stung his throat. The acid slicked his tongue and it tasted like heaven compared to some of the other things had had in his mouth before, things he was choosing to pretend didn't exist and couldn't touch him. </p><p>Even after everything he was still trying to delude himself. That shit is what got him here in the first place. He was irredeemable at this rate, wasn't he? He couldn't even call the acts for what they were, he couldn't even admit it was ra-</p><p>He grit his teeth and shut that thought down before it could go any farther. The word just felt too personal, too vulgar, too wrong. He hadn't enjoyed it or desired it or had a choice, but he still consented. It was coerced, maybe, but whatever. Life’s not black and white, he’d learned that by now. It was different. He wasn't like the people in the books, he<em> wasn’t</em> a victim, he was different. </p><p>He could only handle being helpless to one thing at a time, right now. He couldn’t take much more than this. He couldn’t remember any of that. He didn’t want to. It already happened, he didn’t have to think about the details when they weren't relevant.</p><p>But maybe if he'd faced reality head-on and admitted it earlier, he wouldn't be there. Maybe the real reason he could never navigate the signs in the forest of his life was that he was scared of where they'd lead.</p><p>Or maybe he was dreaming. Maybe the Pandora's box he kept stored in the back of his mind was being ripped open by his subconscious and any second now he’d wake up screaming. He just needed to slam the damn thing shut and repress it all somewhere deeper. Perhaps the rope burns on his flesh were really just from the sheets and he couldn't move because he was really just having paralysis and he wasn’t there at all. It felt like the end of the world, but the evil that trickled out of the cracks of his mind and into his sleep tended to do that. </p><p>He’d look up from where he had been sprawled, flailing on the bed. He’d see the bright red eyes that lit the path to his life, the steel that he promised to protect, and the brother who was always there for him, no matter how much he fucked up. Al would be there and he’d hold his hand, watch the door, whisper to him that it was okay. Ed would smile because it was all he could do, before closing his eyes once more. He’d be safe.</p><p>Ed took a deep breath in and waited. </p><p>A few seconds passed.</p><p>He was still there. </p><p>He’d known that he would be, but he was still disappointed, like he’d been robbed of something by reality not bending the way he wanted it to. </p><p>Ed’s vitality was drained. His body was heavy and his head drummed melodies that tried to use pain as a means to lull him into unconsciousness. His thoughts were scattered and fleeting ashes in the wind, spiraling and spinning and disappearing. His tongue was an awkward brick in his mouth and not nearly enough to voice his emotions, far too uncomfortable to sort through every little feeling and put them into words.</p><p>But he didn’t have room for bricks now that he had no protective walls to put them in and he lacked the energy to rebuild another from scratch, so he bit his tongue and let the blood that spilled from it ground him. It’s not like he would say anything anyway, because there were still no phrases that could ever truly describe this.</p><p>He tried to sort his thoughts into boxes of ‘God, I’m so Scared’ and ‘None of this is Actually Happening’ and ‘Get the Fuck Out, You Idiot’. He put every remaining shred of hope into one that laid off to the side, the one he named ‘Getting Answers’. </p><p>He was back to step one: Figure out why he was here. Compartmentalizing was never something he particularly succeeded at, but right now, it was all he could do. </p><p>“Hey,” Ed’s voice was strained, almost a whisper, as he spoke, “Tell me why I'm still alive right now.”</p><p>“Edward,” Tucker ignored his question as he muttered, “Be honest with me. Would you die from blood loss if I deconstructed your port?”</p><p>The question barely phased Ed, at that point. It sounded exactly like the kind of asshole thing Tucker would do to him, because anything that Ed had, he ruined. </p><p>Ed had written his name in the devil’s book three months ago, sold his soul, gained the marks to prove it, and he was being hung for his crimes. Now he got to listen to the one-person crowd jeer as his neck snapped above the quiet of the basement, because the chances of him dying from blood loss were pretty high. The only reason he'd even survived last time was because Al had rushed him to the Rockbell’s within minutes. </p><p>The memory made him shiver and honestly wasn’t doing much for his growing sense of dread.</p><p>“You’re the bio-alchemy expert,” Ed scoffed. His voice wavered a little with every word. It was hard to talk over his still-trembling lip and the despair that was slowly dicing him into pieces. “What do <em>you</em> think will happen if you take off something that’s attached to my body?”</p><p>“I only asked because you’re more familiar with automail,” Tucker sighed. “I can’t use you if you’ll die, though.”</p><p>Use. Tucker said <em>use</em>. Ed knew he wasn’t there to have sex, or to be kept as a prisoner, or to be killed, even though he felt like he was about to die. That took out the three most likely options. Tucker needed him for something. Something the man couldn’t accomplish without Ed being alive to do it. Something that meant potentially deconstructing his ports.</p><p>Ed made a list of everything he sensed. He gathered every piece of data, ran it through his mind, and tried to come up with the most likely hypothesis. If he thought about this as an experiment, maybe he could better read the signs. Ed had never been a detail-oriented person anyways, all he needed to do was look at the big picture, all he had to do was be a scientist and try to predict the most likely outcome. </p><p>It took a few seconds, but then Ed’s eyes landed on the transmutation circles that adorned the walls, and then where Alexander lay, still asleep in the corner. Something clicked. The dread that had been slowly working its way through his body suddenly gripped his senses with ice-cold tendrils.</p><p>He knew why he was there. He tried to breathe, but the air escaped his reach before it could fill his lungs. They rasped and deflated, choked on the oxygen, refused to comply. He’d completed the first step of any escape- which he was still not giving up on- But he was dizzy again and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little in denial.</p><p>Vertigo was such a pretty sounding word, it had such a sophisticated ring to it, to be used to describe the way his world was tilting on its axis. This was a primal sense of unease, intuitive and entirely too painful. But he knew. Part of science was finding patterns. Ed had measured the stats out on a chart in his head and it all checked out.</p><p>“You’re trying to make another chimera, aren’t you?” As he spoke, some syllables caught on his still bleeding tongue, every letter unpleasant to say, slightly slurred from the head wound, and rough with horror. “That’s why you’ve been so busy with your assessment project. That’s why I’m here. You’re trying to recreate results.”</p><p>There was a nauseating sense of finality to the revelation. Being there was a cement block tethered to his feet and this moment was the part where he got thrown off a dock and into an ice-cold ocean. Even if he fought against the rolling waves, even if he struggled with failing, burning lungs, even if he <em>knew</em> he was drowning, he had no way to prevent it. Recognition of those facts didn’t stop it from happening. He would still sink to the bottom, the pressure would still burst his eardrums, the putrefaction would occur and he’d return back to nothing.</p><p>He was dying- about to die- he could die- he could have his body reconstructed into something even more not-him than himself, and all he could do was thrash and hope that if he screamed loud enough Tucker just might <em>stop</em>.  </p><p>Tucker’s hands paused over his shoulder. The man took a deep breath in, his fingers still hovering, before he continued with his fiddling. “You’re very observant, Edward,” His voice gave nothing away about how he felt, simply stating it as a fact and moving on. </p><p>Ed clenched his fist. His nails dug shallow trenches within the flesh. His fingers strained and shook under the force, tendons flexing painfully, and it hurt, but that was the point, wasn’t it? “I’m not letting you do that to me.”</p><p>“This isn’t a choice.”</p><p>“Nothing’s a choice with you,” Ed spat. “You always just do whatever the hell you want and get pissy when people have a problem with it.”</p><p>“So what if I do?” Tucker asked flippantly. “It’s human nature to take what you want. Don’t pretend your curiosity doesn’t run as deeply as mine, Edward.”</p><p>“I’d never do this to someone.”</p><p>“And that’s exactly what I would’ve said, at your age,” Tucker’s breath tickled the back of Ed’s ear. Ed braced himself on instinct and didn’t let his muscles untense even after nothing happened. “But you’ll grow up. You’ll see how dull life can be when you restrict yourself to what other people think is acceptable, to what’s been done before. Your need to test the limits will always win, in the end.”</p><p>So that’s all this was? A way to exert control, for the man to see what he could do just because he <em>could</em>? </p><p>That wasn't fair. Ed wasn't some experiment, or an object only used for pleasure. Tucker had no right to treat him like one, no right to fucking <em>do</em> this. Ed was a person. He was a person, and he was sick of being handled like he wasn't.</p><p>Tucker wanted him to be malleable. He wanted him to be putty in the man's hands who bent over and didn’t fight. He wanted to see if he could make him comply to every whim, how long he’d last, how long he could be hurt until he was broken beyond recognition. Tucker was pissed when he argued and bored when he was too good. Ed really couldn’t win no matter what.</p><p>And the boy in that room wasn’t Ed. Not just in the way that it felt like none of it was actually happening to him, but in how he wasn’t someone who just did what they were told to. He didn’t shut up and take things instead of struggling against the odds for what he wanted. He wasn’t compliant, he’d never done what people told him to do a day in his life, he was always the one in control. He wasn’t meant to be this fucking pathetic and used and sore all the time. </p><p>And he wasn’t a god, either. He’d played God, but he wasn’t omnipotent and he made mistakes. Terrible mistakes, unforgivable ones, but he was trying to fix them and be better, so why wasn’t that enough? </p><p>He’d played the whore, too. He shut up when Tucker said to shut up, pretended to like it when he was demanded to do so, touched himself when he had no other choice but to swallow the bile and get it over with. He’d tried to be a god and he’d tried to be a whore, but at the end of the day, he was really just himself. </p><p>He couldn’t be anything else. He was Edward Elric. When you put together the memories, the emotions, the metal, every element that composed his not-his body, the mysterious substances that equaled his soul, that’s all he was. He hated himself for what he’d done, what he hadn’t done, what he’d tried to be, but he <em>literally couldn’t be anyone else</em>. He didn’t get to exist as someone other than himself. </p><p>He’d had his own life before this. His own dreams, his own emotions, his own agency. He was a brother, and a child, and a genius, and so many other things. </p><p>He was human. Artlessly, plainly human. He was a person. He <em>is</em> a person. People are valuable, life is precious. Everything moved in circles, it was all supposed to be worth something, part of a bigger whole. Being here had to have a meaning, didn't it?</p><p>All is one and one is all, so he was supposed to be worth something, too, wasn’t he?</p><p>So <em>why</em> didn’t it matter? Why didn’t his voice <em>matter</em>? </p><p>“I’m a <em>person</em>, Tucker,” Ed spat. He clenched his fist harder. The red abrasions around his chest, wrist, and ankle were starting to swell and bruise. The marks throbbed, bone-deep. His eyes stung and his heart ached, trapped in his body, it played a symphony of blood that pounded from his sternum to his throat to his ears, growing and growing until Ed was drowning in it. “I’m human. Just like you, and Nina, and Lillian. Curiosity isn’t an excuse.”</p><p>“I’m not making excuses,” Tucker chuckled. “I know you’re human, Edward. I wouldn’t be interested if you weren’t.”</p><p>“So you just don’t care about what I want?”</p><p>“I do.”</p><p>“But not enough to stop, huh?” Ed tilted his head up towards the ceiling and he didn’t bother to keep himself from crying. The white of the paint above him danced under the lantern's warm, glimmering light. In a mundane, natural way, it was pretty. If he looked long enough, he could almost imagine the dark silhouettes from the room’s objects were shadow puppets that made stories. He could almost watch the shapes morph into a tale that he might’ve heard when he was younger, one where good things happen to good people and evil was always punished. That was how the world was supposed to work.</p><p>He was cold. He’d never liked the cold. He wished he could blame his goosebumps on the lack of heating in the basement, but he felt it inside of him, too. Like the oxygen in his own internal flame had been sucked out and repurposed into a biting, chilling wind. It twisted him up inside like the tornadoes he saw as a kid in Resembool and flung his emotions around like one, too. They flew and crashed against each other, meeting in the middle until they were a muddle of sensations that looped back into the tears that stung his eyes and the thing that ate away at his gut. The thing that whispered above the roaring winds that he'd never leave this place and he'd be dead by morning. </p><p>He wondered, once again, how many people would come to the funeral. Especially after they'd learned what had been done to him, after his body had been mutated into a horrific fusion of man and beast. Maybe they’d take pity on him, say that he hadn’t deserved this because he was fucking doing his best and he couldn’t be more than the parts that combined to make him. Maybe they’d think he had it coming. He wasn’t sure anymore, because somehow both options existed as equally valid ideas and they were ravaging one another in his mind, fighting a war that had no end.</p><p>“Haven’t you taken enough?” A few more tears slipped down Ed's cheeks, their pace steady and refusing to slow. Snot dribbled onto his lips and he couldn’t even fucking wipe it because his hands were still tied up. It was gross, but he honestly didn’t care. He already felt as disgusting as he did cold and it wasn’t like being appealing ever gotten him anything good, anyway. </p><p>“When are you done? I did everything you wanted. You fucked me for months and I let you. You threatened my brother and Nina and me and I <em>still</em> didn’t run. You kept me hostage in your- your stupid fucking house and used everything you could as leverage to keep me from leaving, and you just won’t <em>stop</em>,” He squeezed his eyes shut when the need to bawl became harder to control. “I-I was supposed to escape tomorrow, and now you’re gonna-... you’re trying to turn me into-..  Wh-When are- you fucking-... when are you-” </p><p>He cut himself off with a sob, thrashing his head to the side as he tried to keep his breaths steady. The pounding from the wound on his crown was aggravated by the sudden movement, shooting enough pain through him to make him flinch. He clenched his fist harder. His nails pierced his flesh palm and blood pooled underneath them, dripping sluggishly onto the wood directly below. He took a few seconds to stew in the misery and exhaustion, before he lowered his voice and tried to find the words he needed. When they came to him, they were entirely too much to share, and yet not enough. </p><p>“Wh-When are you done? When you kill me? When I finally off myself because I couldn't keep doing this? Would you even feel bad, if I died because of you?” Tucker didn’t respond, but even if he did, Ed was honestly too upset to even care. “Would you?! I could've, you know. The day Al found out I’d- I’d almost- I'd never thought about that before <em>you</em> fucking-” </p><p>Ed bit his lip. He couldn’t finish the sentence, he still couldn’t say it. Something was running its way from his toes to the crown of his head, sending shivers down his spine, before it stopped at his torso and clustered into knots in his stomach. They tangled and tangled and the longer he felt them, the more he realized they’d never come undone. And they were bitter like hate. A loathing so deep it felt intrinsic to his very being, cancerous and multiplying and rotting him from the inside out.</p><p>But it was freeing, too, and it let him cut some weight off his shoulders. He was scared and he was hurt and he was going to let himself feel that way, right now, because there was a possibility he was going to die tonight, or be turned into a chimera like Lillian, and he'd never get the chance to again.</p><p>He felt so used. He felt so angry. He hadn’t felt this justified in his emotions since the first time, since he’d stared at the wall and wondered if Tucker even realized how much he was hurting him. Ed knew the answer, now. It had flip-flopped sides a million times and every instance he’d debated the question had made the twisted string in his gut even more complex, but he'd escaped his tar-pit middle ground the moment he found out about Lillian. He got to stand on the other side, overlooking everything, and know that someone couldn’t do this to another person and care. </p><p>And even if Tucker had, Ed decided it didn’t matter. The man’s actions were still the same, and good thoughts didn’t equal good people. Ed still wasn't sure if him giving a shit would’ve made the whole thing better or worse, but Ed knew it had happened either way, and he knew that he was livid.</p><p>“Edward,” at some point, Tucker had stepped out from behind him. The man stared, his eyebrows furrowed, and his arms crossed. Ed knew he must have been quite an ugly, pathetic sight, but being emotionally naked was still less painful than being stripped of his clothes, posed in front of a camera. </p><p>It wasn’t as bad as sex, being forced to make sounds that should never have come from his throat, the shame that filled him when his nose crinkled and he peaked. How his eyes had followed the semen as it escaped in a white spurt and stained the sheets. How it judged him, degraded him for reacting the way his body was made to. </p><p>He couldn't control it. He'd tried holding his breath until stars twinkled around the edges of his vision, he'd tried staring at the wall, he'd tried keeping it in until the orgasm was scraped out with touches that were razors slicing at his flesh. He wondered how it wasn’t scorched and blistered down there. It hurt so much sometimes that it felt more appropriate that the damage be permanent. </p><p>The memories made his upper lip curl. He tried to push them away, but they were burrowed so deeply within him that to force them down completely would require taking a spear to his heart and ramming it through until they spilled out the other end. It would slice through the filth that had made a home there, but the only way to do that was to destroy him completely. </p><p>He tried to close his legs on instinct. The restraints stopped him halfway, so he sobbed instead, clenching his fist with the blood still sticky on his fingertips.</p><p>Tucker tried to meet his gaze once again and Ed turned his head away. Looking at him made him feel too exposed, even after everything he’d just said, everything he’d been through. </p><p>And Ed knew how bloodshot and tired his eyes probably seemed. Far too vulnerable. His lashes were still damp and they chilled his skin every time he blinked, the droplets glistening against the irritated, puffy flesh. Red-rimmed lids and dull pupils, whittled down by exhaustion and that wide, gaping hole in his mental walls. </p><p>On the day of the exam, one of the officers had said Ed looked dead on his feet. He’d told him that he needed to come back down to earth because he was too spacey. The thing about space, though, was that it was always alive and forever changing. Ed may have been human, but he was stagnant. Pinned. Still in that room.</p><p>And he was too tired for this.</p><p>“Hey,” Tucker's voice was soft, softer than Ed usually heard it, but it held that entitlement, that demand to it that pissed him off. “Look at me.”</p><p>Ed closed his eyes, thinned his lips, and shook his head. It was childish and petty and that was the point, honestly. </p><p>Tucker sighed, which was strange because Ed honestly thought he was about to get slapped again for not listening. “Do you really hate me that much?”</p><p>Ed did a double-take, mentally. The words caught him off guard, almost enough for it to be funny. Actually, it was hilarious, because really-</p><p>“Wh-What kind of fucking question is that?” The tightness in his throat was still there and he was like 60% sure he was crying, but he was laughing so hard he really couldn’t tell. His cackles devolved into giggles after a few seconds, but the more he thought about the statement, the harder it got to control his reactions. “You pulling my leg or somethin’?”</p><p>“A genuine one. Answer it,” Tucker’s eyebrows pinched and Ed found the hysteria very hard to fight with how <em>embarrassed</em> he looked. </p><p>“Five minutes ago you were saying you’d kill me if I wasn’t quiet.”</p><p>“Because you were grating my nerves.”</p><p>“You’re unbelievable,” Ed chuckled bitterly, cracking his eyes open just enough to glare through the puffy slits. “Go fuck yourself.”</p><p>Tucker bristled, at that, and he said something, but Ed chose to ignore it because it was the usual bullshit that came from his mouth. </p><p>Ed glanced down towards his hand, the man’s annoying chatter in the background, and that’s when he saw it. </p><p>Blood. Crimson streaks that decorated his fingers. It was almost black in the dim light. He almost missed it. </p><p>But he didn’t.</p><p>Drops of it slid from the four crescent-shaped intents in his palm, trickling under his wrist and forming a small puddle on the wooden armrest directly below. The wooden armrest below, which was smooth enough to write on.</p><p>It was beautiful. He probably sounded creepy when he said that, but fuck, he’d never been so happy that he could bleed. He’d never been so thankful that his stature was built the way it was. His arms were sh- concise enough to sit comfortably on the armrest. He had an out. Step 3 was simple, find a way to escape, and use it. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought about this earlier.</p><p>He averted his gaze before it could become suspicious, but his mind was already drawing arrays. Suddenly every single horrible thought and emotion was thrown out of his brain and replaced with an almost euphoric relief. He wasn’t going to die, fuck that bullshit. He was going to get out of there, grab Al and Nina, and run. Run, and never look back.</p><p>He could move his hand. There was just enough room for one circle, if he was careful. Nothing else, but that was all he needed. That was all it took. </p><p>Tucker may have separated his palms, but he hadn’t restricted his finger movements. It made sense, it’s not like Ed had something to write with. And he doubted he’d been knocked out long enough for Tucker to stress over details. The bindings were a rushed job and it showed. </p><p>Ed clenched his fist again and grimaced over a smile. The adrenaline was pumping enough to dull his headache and dissipate the fog that clouded his thoughts and scrambled them into the barest of emotions.</p><p>The anticipation was back, but the good kind, this time. Not the one where he laid in bed and waited to be violated, or the one where the thing in his gut convinced him he was going to die. It was hopeful. </p><p>That probably wasn't good, was it? Hope had never gotten him anywhere. Hope was the thing that led to desperation, that caused mistakes in basements, that pulled him to this doorstep and made him agree to live here.</p><p>But he didn't have much else, so he clung to it with every inch of his bruised, battered soul and body.</p><p>“Feel any better?”</p><p>Tucker’s words slipped through his thoughts and pulled him into the real world. Ed kept his gaze locked on the man, waiting for him to look away, biding time for the perfect moment to get sketching. </p><p>He sniffled and tried to even his voice. “Untie me and then ask that again after I pound your face in.”</p><p>“I don’t think I will,” Tucker frowned. It was easy to miss, teetering the edges of his mouth down, almost non-existent, but Ed knew it when he saw it. </p><p>“Do you have any ideas about what to do with the extra iron from your automail?” Tucker asked after a moment. “I don’t want to take off your ports and risk killing you, and I figure the other trace elements in the steel are easy to disperse.”</p><p>“How considerate,” Ed scoffed. “Yeah, sure, let me just take some time to come up with ideas that are gonna help you tear my body apart and turn me into a chimera. Because <em>that’s</em> something I’m going to do.”</p><p>Tucker crossed his arms. "I could always use Nina instead.”</p><p>“Touch her and I’ll fucking kill you,” Ed glared defiantly, drifting his fingertips against his palm in a painful but comforting motion. Tucker going to grab Nina actually wouldn’t be a bad thing, Ed could use the time the man was away to escape, but the thought of her any closer to this situation made his mouth dry and his stomach toss itself in circles nauseatingly. He didn’t want to risk her being collateral. It was scary enough when he’d found her under the bed, he’d almost had a heart attack.</p><p>He was going to have to talk to her about playing hide and seek in appropriate places. He didn’t know how to explain what was happening to a 5-year-old. Had he not noticed her, he would’ve been forced to figure it out, which was really one of the few things he could think of that would’ve made this situation worse.</p><p>He was starting to get that post-mental breakdown exhaustion. It made his eyelids droop and drained every muscle he had, until he was almost relaxed, in a defeated sort of way. He was so sore and tired that just thinking about moving hurt. </p><p>He was going to take the longest fucking nap in history once this was all over.</p><p>“Get brainstorming, Edward,” Tucker said, oblivious to the fact that he already was, just not in the way the man wanted. Ed chuckled to himself. There was a weird feeling of control to be gained in that knowledge, a shift in dynamic that gave him a sliver of confidence he’d not felt in three months. He’d been told he had a diamond mind and it was a little hellion of a thing when it felt like terrorizing him, but goddamn if it wasn’t quick with arrays. </p><p>“You’re an asshole,” Ed’s voice didn’t hold its usual venom, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t feeling it. He was saving his energy, now. He knew he’d need it. “Have I told you that?”</p><p>“Yes,” Tucker rubbed his temple, having the gall to look annoyed, more than anything. “Many times.”</p><p>Ed made a mental note to get more creative with his insults. He wanted to see him hurt. Genuinely, painfully hurt by words, in the way that Ed had been. That probably made him a terrible person. Resentment never was a pretty emotion.</p><p>Ed didn’t consider himself malicious. Rude, maybe, but not mean, he rarely wanted someone wounded-</p><p>But spite was something that was becoming increasingly familiar. It made a home out of his chest and it may as well have had owned the goddamn lease to his heart. It had moved in and it vindicated him, validated his emotions until they felt natural and untethered. It was easy to blame himself for this, yeah, because he was an idiot who let himself get taken advantage of-</p><p>But it was also getting real easy to condemn Tucker, too, because Ed didn’t fuck himself. Ed wasn’t the reason Lillian was dead and he wasn’t the reason why Nina was motherless. This wasn’t a one-man show, his life wasn’t just his monologue starring him where every little thing was something he scripted and caused. Some shit wasn’t on him. Maybe parts of this he'd deserved, but not everything.</p><p>He felt like a bad person for admitting that, too, but who cared, anyway? He was allowed to be pissed, he was tied down in the basement, about to be chimera’d if he didn’t escape in time, with a concussion and nobody to help him. His life fucking <em>sucked</em> right now.</p><p>“Turn the automail into a separate object or something,” Ed grumbled, still not fully convinced that any of these words were actually coming out of his mouth. “Or use the iron to replace some of the blood lost, if there’s any.”</p><p>“That’s going to complicate the array.”</p><p>Ed rolled his eyes. Sewing Life Alchemist his ass, this was kiddie stuff. “It’s easy if you do two successive transmutations. Have a different one drawn to the side, activate it in between rounds for the-” He realized Tucker was staring and cut himself off. Shit. He hadn’t meant to actually give the man anything useful. He just couldn’t resist the urge to correct people when they were either being stupid or wrong.</p><p>“Yes, very clever,” Tucker nodded, his arms crossed and a pen and paper in his hand. He scribbled something down, before glancing up. “Keep going.”</p><p>Ed would pass on continuing, actually, because this conversation was drawing him back to nights that he’d spent on the floor next to Al, the ones where he'd laid on his side, floorboards rigid against his ribs. With his voice full of misplaced ambition, he read aloud alchemy books like they could save the world. And he thought they could, back then, or at least help salvage the scraps of his own.</p><p>His brother’s soft, unknowing smile as Ed mentioned that the best way to summon their mom’s soul was to use blood. The way Ed had caught Al grinning to himself, hopeful as ever and his eyes scanning pages for knowledge of the forbidden. How they’d talked about it so openly, so plainly, so full of innocence and ignorance, so ready to delve into the transmutation like they weren’t about to ruin their lives, like they weren’t about to create something horrible.</p><p>The blackened, charred skin pulled taut over bones shaped like snapped toothpicks that stuck out at painful angles. The mouth that hung open, the way it had writhed, his own screams that weren’t nearly as loud as the pain of losing his leg. The fear that consumed him when he looked to the side and realized Al wasn’t there, but his little brother's clothes laid in a puddle. The fabric pooled mockingly, as if to ridicule Ed because it was there and Al wasn’t, because it was <em>his fault his fault Al’s gone, give him back-</em></p><p>Tucker stared at him. The gaze struck something primal in Ed’s chest, something intuitive that screamed danger, and pulled him out of the flashback with a shiver. The man’s lips were thinned like he was debating something, almost like he was worried. </p><p>Fucker. Like he had the right to be concerned.</p><p>Ed corrected his wide eyes, unwound his shoulders, and took a deep breath in, “Sorry, head hurts,” He winced to make it believable and glanced away. “I lost my train of thought,” he grumbled.</p><p>“Ah, right.” </p><p>Ed being there had to have been Truth’s version of poetic justice. He’d done the unforgivable to his mother, tried to recreate her like she was an object to be replaced. He’d attempted to make a person like she was a thing that just needed the right materials. </p><p>And there he was, in a body that wasn’t his but was all he could be, and someone was trying to reshape <em>him.</em> Someone had used him like he was discardable, expendable, not a person, just something to get pleasure from. Tucker only kept him around this long to have sex, and Ed had only tried to bring back his mother because he didn’t know how to continue without her. He’d done horrible things to people for his own selfish gain, too.</p><p>In that way, the situation didn’t feel all that different. He knew it was, logically, but it didn't feel like it.</p><p>And fuck, that's exactly what Tucker had said, wasn't it? He was so far in Ed's head at this point that he had to wonder how much of what he thought was actually him and how much was Tucker fucking up his brain.</p><p>The thought made him sick. His stomach was queasy, topsy-turny and he was switching gears towards something darker again. It was exhausting. His emotions were trigger happy and so quick to jump from place to place. He felt like he was constantly operating at extremes. He’d always been a hot-and-cold person, but not like this. It barely took anything to make him furious enough to cry, or so depressive that pessimism clouded every thought, or panicked out of his body.</p><p>He needed to get out of there. He was so sick of being a mess. He didn’t want to be scared, he wanted these fucking ropes off of him. He wanted to see his brother. He wanted to live and be allowed to be his own person, never have anyone ever touch him again. Maybe that was unrealistic, but he’d never been the type to shoot for obtainable goals. </p><p>So when Tucker turned to grab a book from his shelf, Ed took the first chance the world gave to him and started drawing his array. His bloodied fingertips met his palm, and then the wood below. It was difficult, he had to account for the lack of full mobility, switch fingers constantly, and the angle was weird, but he completed it with time. </p><p>He didn’t see what it looked like, didn’t have the option to check. It was too dark and there was too much risk. If it was wrong, he’d know when he activated it. His head was still pounding, and now his heart, too. It was so far up his throat that he almost forgot to breathe at all. </p><p>He slapped his hand down. Wood splintered and split. The chair under him turned into dust as beautiful and scientifically calculated as the fractals that spun around his vision-</p><p>Because now he was standing, and fuck was the world tilting. He’d prepared himself for mobility issues, but he wasn’t able to test his leg fully while sitting and choppy movements came with the territory of head injuries. The brain-body disconnect was stomach-wrenchingly nauseating.</p><p>The bindings slid off of his limbs and into lumps on the floor, tripping him up as he lunged towards the gun on the table. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. </p><p>Tucker must’ve really fucked with his arm. It was almost completely limp when he tried to move it, so he gave up within a split second. The most important thing right then was getting the weapon and not being shot himself.</p><p>His body slammed into the counter, his sight still fading in and out from exhaustion as he put the puzzle pieces of his appendages together and forced them, by either adrenaline or will-power, to fit in place and move the way he needed them to. </p><p>His fingers grazed over metal and he hurriedly clutched the gun, pulled it close to his chest like the lifeline that it was. </p><p>There was shuffling behind him. He hadn’t bothered to stop and watch what Tucker was doing, his one-tracked, terrified mind far too focused on his goal at that moment, but he regretted it when there was an arm around his chest. The hands yanked him forward and the pistol slipped through his fingers, clattering feet away as Ed hit the ground with a pained gasp. His ribs were on fire from where his side had made contact with unforgiving concrete. His pulse pounded in his wounds and his muscles threatened to spasm and quit working at any moment, but he didn’t care. His thoughts crashed, ripped each other apart until the only ones left were his most guttural instincts.</p><p>Tucker was still wrapped around him when he kicked out and tried to use the leverage to reach the gun that laid feet away. There was the sound of metal crunching against bone, but Ed barely minded it. His automail arm was dead weight pulling him down, not providing nearly enough support to put pressure on it, and so he was reduced to a flailing, panicked mess of his flesh-arm and legs. It was less than a fighting stance and he knew Teacher would've been disappointed, but she wasn't there and he was a little too focused on not dying to worry about what she would or wouldn't think.</p><p>The light caught the gun and the way it glimmered was a salve to Ed’s anger, a safety net, the one thing he needed to ensure his body wouldn’t be cold by dawn. His hand scrambled and met metal once more.</p><p>Tucker made a groaning noise before he snarled, almost animalistic. Ed had never seen him this angry, not after Al punched him, and not the first time Ed had fought back. His eyes were blazing. There was so much lividity in his gaze that something pathetic whimpered from the throws of Ed’s mind and told him that he was making a mistake, that he really should've just gone along with this and not caused a scene. </p><p>But the loathing that had sunk its teeth into his heart, infected it until it was pussed and yellowed around the edges, got a sense of satisfaction from the man's reaction. The fear fueled the anger fueled the hatred, and Ed was seeing the world in sharp reds that contrasted against the darkness, stark against the lanterns dim light, or maybe that was a star, Ed didn't know, his sight was too blurry to tell. His pupils were blown wide with the kaleidoscopic colors of the universe and his mind was somewhere far out in space, away from there, and it let his body do the work for it.</p><p>He wasn't dreaming, but he definitely wasn't on earth.</p><p>And he could say that because at that moment, he was moving and he was fucking <em>living</em> and he was going to keep it that way. He wasn't in that room, he wasn't pinned, he was in control and he was never giving that up to anyone else ever again. He was his own person. He was damaged, but he was him, and that had to be worth something, because he didn’t get to be anyone else. </p><p>And the asshole <em>should've</em> been outraged. He should've felt just a fraction of what Lillian had, what Al had, what Nina and everyone else had. </p><p>What Ed had. </p><p>He should <em>hurt</em>. He should be maimed and fucked raw by life, too. He should understand, fully, without room for denial, what he had done. </p><p>And Ed wanted him to feel sorry for it. He wanted him to apologize and beg for forgiveness. Admit that he didn’t care and he never did, admit that he'd taken Nina's mother from her, that he'd forced Al to watch something terrible unfold, that he'd made a hole in Ed's defenses in the shape of the words ‘rape victim’ and that was fucking <em>shattering</em>. </p><p>The gun was hard, unforgiving, but it protected him in a way Ed hadn't been before. His fingers grazed it and it reminded him that he was finally the person with the power.</p><p>Tucker looked at him and Ed wondered what the man saw when he did. The sweat and blood that seeped from his flesh? His hair and eyes, wild and angry? A child, his step-son, a person, an object?</p><p>Was he scared? Did he regret the last three months as much as Ed did?</p><p>Time stopped and Ed was still out of this world, in the seconds of in-between where they'd laid there, looking at each other. It existed on a different dimension, somewhere within the cracks in the universe, but it felt right, because Ed wasn't the one pinned.</p><p>He felt sick like he did when he'd been spanked, he wanted to break down like he had with the pictures, he was fighting back like the time Tucker had punched him in the face and told him to stay still like a good little whore or Al was going to die-</p><p>But he wasn't in that room.</p><p>Ed was in the basement. He wasn't tied up and he wasn't going to be treated like he was something to conquer and mold. He was a person, and he was angry.</p><p>He wondered what Gracia would've done, what Maes would've done, what Teacher or Mustang or Al or his mother would've done.</p><p>He knew what he did, though.</p><p>And then he was running. He didn't look back.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That was a chapter guys omg. I've been playing with ideas for this scene specifically for months and it feels really weird to have it out in the open. I'm probably going to switch my update schedule to every Friday because I think the chapters are slowly getting longer and longer. </p><p>With that, please stay safe everyone &lt;333 Drink some water, take care of yourself, eat a nice meal, whatever you need right now.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm not dead and neither is this fic! Welcome back ladies, gents, pals, and anything in-between, to pain and suffering. Please take care of yourselves. </p><p>No specific tw's for this chapter that I can recall, but please comment if I missed one.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Al tapped his foot against the floor. </p><p>
  <em>Once. Pause. Twice. Pause. Three times-</em>
</p><p>He’d learned to make a game out of it. He'd keep track of the number of raps for as long as he could and restart when it got too high or he lost count. He’d tried doing other things while waiting, but his mind wandered and worried and spun in circles. They all looped back to his brother.</p><p>His brother and what was happening. His brother and how yesterday, he’d started crying while studying. His brother and how he’d really never done that kind of thing unless he’d just gotten back or he’d had a nightmare, so that meant it was getting worse, which meant that he might be in danger, and Al was just <em>sitting</em> there, tapping his foot like nothing was wrong.</p><p>
  <em>Once. Pause. Twice. Pause. Three times-</em>
</p><p>It was quiet in their small, shared bedroom. Noiseless aside from the mahogany clock that sat on the desk and played its melody every quarter-hour. Al liked to keep the chiming on. It was easy to lose time without a body to track the world’s rhythm, eyelids to droop when it got dark and muscles to grow weary from the day's work. </p><p>And it was sound. It was a sense he could ground himself in, another way to keep tethered to the world. </p><p>There was too much space between each strike as the hands crawled from numeral to numeral. They ticked by- dragged, really- with his sanity shortly behind them. It’d gotten to the point that he’d checked to make sure the timepiece wasn’t broken more than once. It never was, but the tempo of his life while he was waiting seemed to eb and flow, crinkle and fold and stretch into infinity. It was endless and he was infinitesimal in a too small, hushed bedroom, empty of his brother’s presence. It might’ve been peaceful had he not known any better. <br/> <br/>Every second that passed was exhaustive in both size and the amount of anxiety it instilled into him. Each of the clock’s interludes were a resting point, a moment where he allowed himself to catch his breath and find comfort in the fact that Ed was 15 minutes closer to being done. </p><p>Or 15 minutes closer to his breaking point. </p><p>15 more minutes that his brother had to add to the list of horrors that had become the outline for his life. Points, experiences, and anecdotes pasted to a board and linked with red twine, drawing people’s gaze from place to place, so many layers that you couldn’t see the truth underneath the turtlenecks and the fleeting, pained smiles. Too many explanations that you could easily use to write off his odd behavior.</p><p>Al certainly hadn’t noticed. He found out by chance, by the lies that had covered the conspiracy like a white sheet over a piece of evidence being ripped off, exposed all at once. He could’ve seen what was underneath if he’d just bothered to look. He could’ve stopped the next crime before it happened if he’d been more perceptive. </p><p>No, wasn’t true, was it? He had known something was off and he’d chosen not to act. He’d assumed that Ed would talk when he was ready. He’d thought it couldn’t be anything dangerous because he’d realize if it was. </p><p>He’d been wrong. He’d been idle when he shouldn’t have been and he would never forgive himself for that.</p><p>It had been longer than usual, three and a half grueling hours spent tapping feet and letting his worries go from a simmer to a boil. Al had long prepared himself for either angry Ed or somber Ed, which were the most likely candidates on days like this. They were both equally as difficult, but Al couldn't ever stay upset. Even when Ed didn't act like himself, didn't smile like he used to, was unable to support Al in the way that he always had growing up.</p><p>His brother was surviving. He was breathing and fighting and that was one of the most incredible things he'd ever done. </p><p>It had to hurt. Ed was always sore, always seemed to be in some sort of pain. He’d hiss when he sat too fast or bent the wrong way. He’d pulled muscles a few times, too, and he tried so hard to hide it, but he’d grimace when he walked and he’d lean on furniture for support when nobody was looking.</p><p>His entire body seemed on the verge of collapse. Ed refused to admit it, but his ribs poked through his clothes and his hand shook when he wrote. Al was surprised he was even cleared to do service because he really didn’t <em>look</em> healthy, but maybe that was because Al was used to seeing him at his best and his best was so extraordinary. </p><p>And Al was starting to realize that maybe to other people, on the surface, Ed did seem like his usual self. He still got out of bed, dressed himself and brushed his hair. He studied, took Nina to school every morning, acted like he had before to most who saw him in passing. </p><p>It was like there was a film over him, thick enough to seem normal to anyone who glanced, but the second you looked closer, you noticed the details. The unnatural state of his eyes. They were just a bit too wide and a bit too empty. A dark well with something below the surface of where the light could reach. They shone, but not like they did before, the spark was fleeting and wary, flickering in and out, a candle compared to a supernova, a bit too hesitant to be normal.</p><p>Hughes was the closest to catching on. He knew something was off, but the man never looked deeper into it than a few probing questions and a side eye or two. Al wondered if he was afraid of what he’d see. Or maybe he just didn’t want to be overbearing. Or maybe he understood what was happening, and he just didn’t care. </p><p>It felt like a lot of people just might not care, these days, because now Al was noticing the kids on the street corners, a few years older than Ed, who got picked up in stranger’s cars, taken back to homes, and nobody batted an eye. Now he realized that these kinds of things were taboo not just because they were horrible, but because they made people uncomfortable and they were swept under the rug because of it. </p><p>But Al couldn’t ignore it and he’d never forget.</p><p>The lack of caring was almost a good thing, though. He also saw the ways some adults looked at his brother. He didn’t want them to get any ideas, to think that Ed was an easy target now. Maybe it was just paranoia, maybe there weren’t any ulterior motives, but it triggered something primal in his soul when their eyes lingered for too long. </p><p>Ed took it with indifference. His lips would barely tighten and his shoulders would tense, but he didn’t react or say a thing. Al found that concerning.</p><p>Ed had already packed his suitcase and it sat neatly in the corner, a reminder of their escape that was to come. Their shared room was spotless, barely lived in. Ed had never been the type to organize things, but he’d taken care of it ever since this started. </p><p>Months ago, before he knew, Al had asked why he suddenly bothered with cleaning. Ed grumbled that he didn’t want Tucker getting pissy because their room was too messy. </p><p>Not even Teacher had been able to tame Ed’s knack towards throwing his jacket haphazardly over chairs instead of hanging it in the closet, how he’d let his dishes pile more often than not, his forever unmade bed. Al had been thankful Ed was growing out of those habits, they’d always driven him crazy. He’d told him that he was glad Tucker had finally talked some sense into him about the wonders of a clean space.</p><p>Al had said a lot of things before he knew. </p><p>But now he understood why Ed had been so careful about not making small mistakes. He always did whatever he could to avoid ticking Tucker off. He’d keep his voice soft and his body language closed, trying to appear less threatening, trying not to cause a scene.</p><p>Trying to protect Al. </p><p>Al knew he shouldn’t blame himself. He wasn’t the person doing this and he didn’t want to make this situation about him, either. Ed was the one being hurt. He needed him to be supportive, not stuck in a rut because the guilt of knowing the truth was too much to bear. </p><p>Ed stayed to protect him and Nina. The fact that he had to was horrible, but Al wasn't going to disrespect his efforts and complain, act like his own suffering even scratched the surface of what Ed was feeling. He had been afraid that he wouldn’t be able to handle this. Al planned to prove him wrong. He may be younger, but he was just as mature. </p><p>But he also wasn’t sure if the fact he was thinking like that, like his best option was to just wait, not make it worse, was a good or a bad thing. Ed would’ve fought for him. He lost his leg and was more worried about Al’s survival than bleeding out. He would’ve found a way to stop this by now if the roles were reversed.</p><p>But even if there was only a sliver of a chance that taking things into his own hands would end badly, he couldn’t do it. Ed was suffering enough. They’d long been flung off to the sea, but Al still didn’t rock boats if it could be avoided, especially when his brother’s safety was at risk, however tempting it might be to pull Tucker in with them and watch him drown too.</p><p>He still wasn’t sure what Ed was about to do, the day he’d come home early and his brother had clapped his hands and threatened him, but Ed had a wild look in his eyes and Al knew he’d been scared. Not for his own safety, he was never afraid for himself, but for Al’s. And he’d even admitted to that, while they were talking. </p><p>Because Tucker really might try to turn them in if Ed didn’t do what he wanted. </p><p>Ed was terrified that he would. He didn’t say it, but Al knew that was only because his brother was trying not to scare him. Al was frightened, too. He may have not had a heart that raced nor the hormones to feel <em>true</em> fear, but most nights were silent and his thoughts could spiral even if he didn’t have a body. </p><p>It was lonely. Nobody knew but him and his brother. There was a disconnect between them and everyone else, a glass wall that scarcely covered the decaying, corroded edges of their ‘family’.</p><p>Because the rest of the world kept moving like everything was the same, even when it wasn't. Al almost couldn’t blame them. He wasn’t any better, afterall. What kind of little brother doesn’t realize this sort of thing is happening until almost three months in?</p><p>Ed had been raped. Maybe Al hadn’t understood what that meant until recently, but he saw what it was doing to him.</p><p>Ed never called his time in Tucker’s room for what it was. He alluded to it only when necessary, with crossed arms, dulled eyes, and a grumble in his voice. The very concept made his brother retreat into himself. Al respected that by doing the same, only talking about it when Ed did first and never saying the r word. </p><p>Ed was still in denial. He was the type to hate admitting that he’d been unable to stop someone from punching him more than he hated the getting punched part. He was still fighting for an illusion of choice. Al was too terrified of what would happen if he stated the truth and took that away from him, so he said nothing. He did nothing.  </p><p>He didn’t know how to help and he didn’t know how to make it better. </p><p>He couldn’t make it better. He couldn’t wave a magic wand and make it all go away. Guarding doors and running baths didn’t stop it from happening. He could only stand by and be whatever Ed needed from him. He could only watch his brother limp from his bed to the bathroom to throw up, listen to him desperately try to hide how he sobbed into his hand on hard nights, feel him slipping through his fingers more and more every day.</p><p>Ed had nobody else to protect him. He was going to fall apart if Al wasn’t there. He was capable of everything but looking after himself, caring about himself, and these past few weeks- <em>months</em>, had shown that. </p><p>Al knew Ed hated himself for this. He avoided mirrors and he didn’t look people in the eye when he spoke to them sometimes, like he was afraid they’d see something repulsive just under the surface. His confidence had become aggression and when he wasn’t angry he was depressed and when he wasn’t depressed he was barely there. </p><p>Al didn’t know how to make that better either. </p><p>Ed had always been the big brother. He’d been the one who threw himself into river streams when he thought Al was drowning, who took responsibility for the transmutation, who sacrificed himself to the military to fix their shared mistake. Al didn’t like that his brother always shouldered everything without him, but Ed had protected him from more than he’d realized. </p><p>Al wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t. They’d always looked out for each other, sure, and Ed told him more about his feelings than anybody else, but he’d never been this vulnerable. Al had never felt this lost. </p><p>They’d been equals before. Now he felt like he was walking on eggshells with every conversation. His brother was tough, the strongest person he knew, but he was also on the edge of something Al couldn’t place and he doubted it was anything good.</p><p>Ed didn’t tell him, though, even now he kept it all inside.</p><p>And oh, he’d lost count again, hadn’t he?</p><p>
  <em>Once. Pause. Twice. Pause. Three times-</em>
</p><p>He wasn’t very good at this, even after weeks of practice. He didn’t think he’d ever be. </p><p>There was a period of time that he spent there, his mind clear of anything but numbers that repeated methodically, pulled him from reality. When he was lost in the rhythm it was easier to focus on the ticking clock, almost meditative and soothing, despite how it marked time spent wading through pools of anxiety and grief.</p><p>That, and the receding tides, suppressed emotions, that heeded the beginnings of a tsunami. </p><p>At some point the water would pile into waves they would send him toppling over. Debris would catch in the raging streams, decimate his inner workings, ravage him completely. He’d lose his kind touch and his patience and he’d do something he was going to regret.</p><p>Now was not that time, though. These moments were spent waiting and the next few hours were reserved for his brother. </p><p>He had no body, but he did have an overwhelming sense of dread that was melding with the metal of his armor, weighting his every moment and becoming pressure on his chest that threatened to crush him. He could practically feel the steel he was composed of. It had begun the day he found out and every second that passed since then only made the burden that much more unbearable. </p><p>He steadied it on his shoulders and held it with all the strength he had. He’d always been something of a grounding and supporting force, rather than the aggressive, untamable fighting spirit his brother held, but it was becoming hard to carry everything that was happening. He had nowhere to put it other than inside of himself, behind patience, patience, patience, and waiting. He was becoming very good at waiting.</p><p>He wasn't sure if he liked that he had to be.</p><p>
  <em>Once. Pause. Twice. Pause-</em>
</p><p>When the door to his room slammed open it was a sudden movement, as unexpected and whiplash inducing as the sight of his brother bloodied, on the verge of collapse, stumbling through it. It pulled him from his thoughts immediately and sent waves of shock rippling through him.</p><p>Sight was usually so much much more vivid when you had nothing else to ground yourself with. Every small, minute detail becomes important. It was almost overwhelming, sometimes, but Al had tunnel vision from the moment Ed hobbled in. Literally. </p><p>His gaze was solely focused on his brother, on his injuries, and everything else became background noise. The ceiling blended with dark oak, with the timepiece kept on their desk, with the rays of light from the window and the bright red of Ed’s comforter that was saddled neatly on his bed. It all turned to dulled greys that centered solely on the focal point in front of him. </p><p>Ed’s steps were mismatched and he moved like he did when he was fresh to automail, like he had new limbs with no idea how to use them. He leaned on the doorframe for support and his forehead had a sheen of sweat that made his bangs cling to the skin below. His hair was bloodied and matted, unbrushed and tangled more than it usually was when he’d gotten back. His automail hung limp at his side, pulling down his shoulder and giving his stance a lop-sided appearance.</p><p>“I shot him.”</p><p>That was the first thing he said, exactly a second after he’d flung the door aside hard enough to make the walls shake and crashed into the room wounded, tripping over his own steps.</p><p>Ed’s voice was soft, scraped out of his throat and so hoarse it hurt just to listen to. He squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered. The tear tracks on his face had long dried and he wasn't crying, but his skin was ashen and his gaze wasn’t quite there. </p><p>He didn’t have to say who he meant. They both knew.</p><p>Al stared at him, panic washing over him and the tidal wave rapidly approaching. It slammed into his body at once. Everything was collapsing and burning inside of him, reverberating jitters through his armor. After a split second used to think and process, he pushed the tides back to where they belonged and quelled the raging waters before they got out of hand. </p><p>He was a little in shock, completely still and frozen in place, his mind spinning in circles and desperately trying to come up with the best response he could that would minimize damage. He searched for words to comfort him. They evaded him, vague and inadequate at best and his own long suppressed breakdown at worst. </p><p>He always seemed to be on the verge of something, too, patience worn and pulled taut until it was precariously close to snapping. </p><p>He’d thought about doing this kind of thing himself, a few times. </p><p>He wondered if he should’ve so Ed wouldn’t have had to. </p><p>He didn’t know what to say, so he settled on gathering information, on asking-</p><p>“Just now?” </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Is he alive?”</p><p>“I-I didn’t check,” Ed’s grip tightened against the doorframe. He bowed his head, eyes downcast towards the floor with hunched, tense shoulders. The words were broken and the defeat in his tone made something in Al’s heart fracture. “I couldn’t make myself check.” </p><p>As suddenly as the door had been flung open, as Ed had come into his room, injured and teeth clenched in pain, and said something that blew both of their world’s apart, his brother’s knees gave out. </p><p>Al yelled for him and surged forward, off the bed, down towards the ground where he’d crumpled. There was no flare in his muscles, no itch scraping against his throat as he inhaled air that became leaden in his lungs, no physical sensation. Nothing but the worry rippling through him and the clangs of his feet on the bedroom floor. </p><p>Just as he got close to where Ed had fallen, his brother drew his legs to his chest and covered his mouth with his flesh hand. It muffled any sound he made and sent it straight back into his throat. Blood smeared on his cheeks where his palm was placed over his lips, the fingers scraping against flesh and bobbing along with his shoulders as he sobbed.</p><p>“Brother,” Al leaned down, feeling entirely too large, too threatening, to do the delicate job of comforting Ed when he so upset. “Are you hurt?”</p><p>It took a moment, but he lifted his head and his eyes met Al’s gaze. </p><p>He wasn’t completely there, his stare not quite centered. He shook his head at the question, centimeter by centimeter, and the motion was drawn out until he seemed to anchor himself enough for speech. “I-I shot him-” Ed said it once more, his eyes wide like it had yet to fully sink in. He then stared at him for answers, like he alone could deny it or accept it, like his words and only his words would make it real. “Al, I <em>shot</em> him. I shot him, I-”</p><p>Ed put his head between his knees and wrapped his flesh arm loosely around his legs, taking deep, unsteady breaths in and out.</p><p>Al reached to put a hand on his shoulder, but quickly withdrew it. As much as it hurt to admit, Ed was sensitive to touch and prone to lashing out. Al wasn’t naive enough to think he didn’t risk triggering something if he moved too quickly when his brother was this upset.</p><p>“You'll be okay,” he said after a moment. Partly for himself, partly for Ed's sake, since he was sure he probably needed to hear it. “It’s okay-”</p><p>“It’s not, though,” Ed chuckled and slumped his chest over his knees in defeat, his head now bowed between his thighs. “You were right. You’re always right, we should’ve run ages ago,” his voice was muffled by his legs, but the bitter quality of his speech was impossible to miss. It was lightly decorated with something almost entertained, and then his shoulders bobbed up and down, snickers devolving into cackles as he tilted his gaze back up and peered over the tops of his legs. His eyes were both unfocused and intense. “Fuck, you should’ve seen the look on his <em>face</em>. You would’ve loved it, it was- he was-'' He ran a trembling hand through his hair and yanked on the strands, gripping them forcefully, still smiling. </p><p>Al had never seen his brother get this hysteric and he hoped he’d never have to again, because Ed’s grin was almost more unsettling than his phrasing.</p><p>“All of that,” Ed chuckled, continuing on with his rant and leaving no room for Al to come up with a good response to it. “And he’s as helpless as the rest of us. Still a fucking person too, I guess,” He furrowed his eyebrows, but his lips were downturned and betrayed the front of anger he tried to convey. It slowly morphed into anguish. Small wrinkles became pronounced and the tears came back. Trails of them flowed freely and dampened the skin that they’d crusted over, along with the newer tracks. “Fu-fucking asshole,” he sobbed, hunching his shoulders and pounding his working fist against the floor. It hit the ground in a dull thud, accenting his screaming. “I <em>hate</em> him!"</p><p>“I know, brother," he realized he probably wasn't helping much, but he was still catching up to reality and unable to find a single good thing to placate him with. "It's okay-"</p><p>"Stop saying that, Al!" He banged his fist against the floor again, his lip quivering and shoulders shaking as he drew a deep breath in to shout. "This is fucked up! You know it, I know it, he fucking knew it, as much as he liked to say that it wasn't and he-"</p><p>“He was so terrible to you and Nina, always threatening you and- and-” he sobbed again. “I thought he might’ve loved us, or at least you, because what parent <em>wouldn't</em> love you, deep down, but he didn’t, and I was so stupid, and he tied me up and he hit me and he-he-” Ed babbled before he cut himself off. “I-I… I shouldn’t be telling you this, I’m sorry,” he curled further into himself. “I’m sorry, Al. For everything this did to you, because he’s never gonna fuckin’ say it, and you deserve some kind of apology.”</p><p>The words were an empty comfort, if Al was being honest, more worrying than anything. He could tell Ed was only trying to console him, but it fell flat with the manic energy that radiated off of him and the things that were actually being said. </p><p>He’d been tied up. Al could tell that, not just thanks to him admitting it, but there were abrasions on his flesh wrist that were raw and starting to swell. The feelings of anger, the need to demand more details so he could understand just what happened, were warring against the urge to make sure he was okay. The two options pulled him in separate directions, although one would always be more important to him than the other.</p><p>“I'm okay,” Al said instead. A lie, but one his brother needed to hear. He kept his shoulders relaxed and his body language as easy as he could, his voice soft, his tone softer. “I’m not the one he harmed.”</p><p>Ed scoffed and looked at him like he saw straight through him. “That’s bullshit and you know it,” he said. “He may have never touched you, but he hurt you worse than he ever could’ve hurt me, making you watch this.”</p><p>Al honestly wasn’t sure how to have this respond to that, and he’d rather wait until Ed was more.. Level-headed to have this conversation. Al could tell he was a little off-kilter, although he couldn’t exactly blame him for it and he definitely wasn’t judging him for it.</p><p>“I’m... beginning to feel like it’s a competition,” he joked.</p><p>Ed looked at him for a moment, his mouth open like he didn’t quite know how to react to that, before he settled on a heated glare. “I’m being serious, Al!” His cheeks were gaining a flush, although Al wasn’t sure if he should credit it to the crying, the injuries, or the embarrassment. </p><p>“I know,” he sighed. “Let’s just.. Call it a draw for now, alright?”</p><p>Ed nodded at that, still flushed, and cast his gaze towards the floor. His breaths were slowly evening into something less sporadic. "I’m still half convinced he’s gonna kill us for this,” he closed his eyes and smiled again, like it was a funny, silly little thought. The expression might’ve been peaceful during more normal circumstances. The corners of his mouth were tilted a little too high, though, and his eyes were closed a little too tightly. When combined with the disheveled hair and blood smeared on his cheeks, it was a less than comforting sight.</p><p>“Brother,” Al kept his voice gentle, but assertive. “He can’t.”</p><p>“I fucking <em>know</em> that,” he snapped.</p><p>Al felt something in himself shrivel a little bit at his tone, almost hurt, but he ignored it. He wasn’t going to make Ed feel bad for something small when he was already suffering so much. He was just a bit upset. </p><p>He was about to change the subject, but it barely took a second before his brother’s face softened.</p><p>“Sorry,” Ed grumbled and glanced away, guilt sewn into the seems of his expression. “It’s been a shit day.”</p><p>“It’s alright. I’m not mad.”</p><p>“You should be.”</p><p>“Don’t tell me how to feel,” Al said, crossing his arms and putting his all into making his body language as stern as possible. “I’m not upset with you for this. It was self defense.”</p><p>“That’s not what I mean,” Ed huffed. He swallowed and his annoyance seemed to turn to rage, becoming bitter and twisted with something hateful. “I made you go through this for no reason. He probably would’ve killed us or sold us out eventually either way.”</p><p>“You were scared.”</p><p>“That’s not an excuse,” he glanced away. “I shouldn’t have let it get this far.”</p><p>Al sighed, feeling very much out of his depths, but he knew Ed well enough to realize he was thinking in loops. Reassuring him was just going to upset him more. </p><p>“Can you stand?” Al asked.</p><p>He figured getting him off the floor was likely a good start to dealing with this. </p><p>Ed’s lips pursed. “I dunno.”</p><p>Al put his hand out. Ed eyed it for a split second, the movement barely noticeable, but he soon placed his flesh palm above the steel, drawing his shoulders forward and positioning himself close enough to be helped up.</p><p>Al slowly assisted him to his feet. Ed’s legs were shaking, his knees bent unevenly. His breaths were weary as he leaned on Al’s arm for support, looking about one push away from complete collapse, his motions slow like his muscles were fighting a current for every inch of movement.</p><p>“Where are you injured?” Al asked.</p><p>Ed blinked sluggishly. “Huh?” He furrowed his eyebrows and glanced up. It took a few seconds for Al’s words to process, but when they did, his expression got more strained. “Uh, arm and head, mostly. He fucked up my automail pretty bad and he kinda, y’know,” he made a popping sound with his mouth and drew his hand back to make a motion, but that only caused him to stumble forward, now lacking support. Al caught him before he could hit the ground. </p><p>Al had no idea what Ed meant to convey with that last bit, but there was blood in his hair and he was slurring his speech enough for head injury to be a player.</p><p>Noticing how Ed was barely staying upright, Al brought him towards the bed and helped him sit down on it. Ed didn’t protest at being jostled and directed. That really led onto how out of it he was more than anything.</p><p>He quelled the cold rage that was burrowing its way into his armor and tainting his vision red. The fury had been simmering below the surface for ages now, but the sight of his brother's injuries were more than enough to stroke the flame back to a temperature that burned him from the inside out. </p><p>Ed collected himself and steadied into a seated position comfortable enough that he wasn’t squirming. “You gotta leave, Al,” he said softly. His words were enough of a distraction to pull Al away from the anger twisting daggers in his heart, cutting away the usual kindness that made a home there. “I already told Nina to pack a bag.”</p><p>“Does she know?”</p><p>Ed shook his head. “Tucker locked her in his room. I heard her yelling when I went to go find you. She was too upset to tell me what happened, but I think she saw something she shouldn’t have and he put her in there so she wouldn’t..” Ed trailed off as his lips tightened. He held his shoulders high and narrowed his eyes with a scalding gaze, a look of lividity and conviction that Al had missed from him. A blame, a precise anger directed at somebody other than himself that soon softened once more into guilt and fleeted as quickly as it came. </p><p>“I’m gonna turn myself in,” he blurted out, voice shaking and giving away his fear no matter how much he tried to hide it behind knit eyebrows and determined glares. “It’ll look worse if I don’t. The military will come after us the second they find him, and when they want someone, they get them.”</p><p>“Brother, you know as well as I do that we could hide if we really wanted to,” Al said. “What is this actually about?”</p><p>“I-” Ed worried his bottom lip and cast his gaze askew. His flesh hand found the blanket next to him. He smoothed it before clutching the fabric tightly. It stopped his hand from shaking, but the motion also made him wince slightly, as if in pain. “I shot him, I can’t just pretend that I didn’t.”</p><p>“You wouldn’t be.”</p><p>“But it’s the same thing, isn’t it?” Ed chuckled darkly as his eyes met Al’s once more. They were bloodshot and his pupils were blown. Bags had long made a home underneath them, the dark purple contrasting against his too-pale skin, but the sickly nature didn't worry Al as much as the resolve they held. </p><p>Ed had already decided. Al couldn’t change the course of his thoughts once he’d put his mind to things, God knows he'd spent years trying. Ed was as self-sacrificing as he was strong, though, and Al got the feeling that he considered those traits the same thing.</p><p>“Living life like everything’s normal even though you’ve shot someone, that’s what he would’ve done,” Ed continued. “That’s what he did. He never took time to worry about the consequences of his actions, he just hurt people and acted surprised when it fucked them up.”</p><p>“You know it’s not the same,” Al shook his head. “You’re nothing like him and I’m not gonna sit here and listen to you say that the situations are comparable, because they aren’t,” Ed opened his mouth to retort, but Al swiftly cut him off with a raised hand as he kept talking. “None of this was ever your fault and I keep trying to beat it into that thick skull of yours, but it never sticks, so I’m gonna rephrase it,” He took in a deep breath, or at least something close to it. “If it were me in your shoes, you wouldn’t be so hard on yourself, would you? Or Nina? Or anyone else?” </p><p>Ed thinned his lips, but didn’t otherwise speak. </p><p>Al gave an internal, self-satisfied smile. “That’s what I thought. So the next time you talk crap about yourself, think of it like you’re saying that about me.”</p><p>Ed looked horrified at the thought, his mouth gaping and his expression almost offended, but it turned more contemplative as Al’s words seemed to soak in. He slowly cracked a smirk and sighed. “When’d you get so smart?”</p><p>“We both know I’ve always been the one who inherited the wisdom, brother. It’s not my fault that you didn’t realize that ‘till now.”</p><p>Ed smiled a little wider, but didn’t retort. </p><p>The soft expression fell off his face after a few seconds. He continued to run his hand over the blanket next to him, catching the fabric between his fingertips and smearing crusted blood over it. Al might’ve gotten onto him about it, in another time, but he figured dirty bedspreads were the least of their worries at that point.</p><p> “I’m so sick of running from stuff, though," Ed closed his eyes and took in a shallow breath. "I have to face this head-on.”</p><p>“Then I’m coming with you.”</p><p>“You can’t.”</p><p>“I knew you’d say that,” he huffed the best he could. It was a hard noise to make with the handicap of the armor, but judging by the way Ed’s expression got more pained, it got his annoyance across rather well. “<em>I’m</em> sick of you not letting me help you.”</p><p>“I know,” Ed sighed. “But you can’t-”</p><p>“I can and I will.”</p><p>Ed stared at him for a moment, his face somewhere between disbelief, exacerbation, and regret. He analyzed him before seeming to turn inwards and search there for some sort of answer. A moment passed before he found it. He hunched his shoulders and he pressed his eyes shut, a level of resignation present to his movements. Al had always been the thing he was weakest to, but he wasn't sure if Ed's half-hearted acceptance of defeat was thanks to him, or to what had happened, or both.</p><p>“You’re being really difficult right now, do you realize that?” It was Ed’s turn to huff. “Whatever happened to respecting your elders?”</p><p>“You’re only my elder by 11 months.”</p><p>Ed crossed his arms and stuck his nose up. “Those months make me all the more mature.”</p><p>“Yes brother, because when I think you, I think mature," he said sarcastically. </p><p>Ed scowled, but also held an unsteady smile. It teetered at the edges and swiftly flew away, leaving his lips pressed tightly in the end, but it had been there. </p><p>The banter had created some normalcy, even if it was forced and only for a moment. </p><p>"Thanks, Al," The lump in his throat was obvious by how choked the words came out. He clutched the blanket tighter. "For putting up with me, I-" He cut himself off with a light curse, his face strained and flushed like he was allergic to emotion. He probably was, when it came to showing thanks or anything positive. "I don't know what I would've done with myself if you hadn't been here. It was so- he-" Ed started a few more sentences and cut each short. </p><p>"I know, brother."</p><p>Because he did. He knew how hard this had been on both of them, and he knew how much Ed tried. </p><p>He didn't have to say anything more than that. They both understood.</p><p>Ed's posture got more slack and his face followed suit, turning more detached as he seemed to resign himself to numbness. "We should probably call an ambulance, shouldn't we?" He sighed. "It'll help our case if he doesn't die, or if it at least looks like we made an effort."</p><p>"They'll believe us if we say it was self defense, won't they?"</p><p>"They'll have to," Ed clenched his fist. "I can't afford to go to prison."</p><p>Al tapped his foot anxiously, darting a glance towards the door. It seemed to loom above him, an impressive feat, considering his own size. The idea of facing the outside world was not something he was particularly keen on, but he knew they’d have to start moving sooner rather than later. Time was a limited thing, afterall. </p><p>The clock struck 6, chiming in accordance. It had a sense of finality to it.</p><p>“We should probably get going then,” Al said.</p><p>“Yeah,” Ed swallowed and glanced up from where he’d hung his head down. He rubbed the fabric of the blanket between his fingers once more and seemed to ground himself in it, but swiftly drew his hand away and used it to steady himself as he stood. “It’s now or never,” he said through gritted teeth, his body trembling with effort and his motions a little sloppy. </p><p>He’d never been one to wait around. It was nice to see that aspect of him peeking through, almost like he’d regained some semblance of confidence. Or maybe it was urgency and he was actually just anxious to get it over with so he wouldn’t have to wait in anticipation. Maybe both. Al wasn’t sure, but he was glad to see something in his expression other than despair or guilt.</p><p>Al offered him his arm once more and together, they made their way to the telephone downstairs, passing Nina as they went, her backpack on her shoulders and her eyes rather red-rimmed. Al put a comforting hand on her head. Ed didn’t meet her gaze, even as she followed them down the stairs.</p><p>And so, to their doom, or maybe their hope, they went.</p><p>---</p><p>It had been a day like any other. </p><p>That was probably cliche, but monotony was something Maes actively pursued. He'd had plenty of adventure to last a lifetime back in Ishval. He'd much rather keep his worries solely focused on things like playing with his daughter or what to cook for dinner. </p><p>And Elysia was getting so big, too. She’d just hit the two month mark, such an incredible feat. She had the cutest, most pinchable cheeks, he could already tell she was going to be gorgeous and so strong when she was older-</p><p>But the worst things always seem to happen on the most ordinary days, and at that moment, he was focused on the child on the other end of the line. </p><p>“Ed,” He started, feeling a little confused, if he was being honest. The brother’s rarely called anyone, which meant this was either work-related, or an emergency. Ed had yet to get his first assignment, so that only left the latter option. The thought made his heart skip a beat. It lodged itself far up enough that he could feel his pulse in his throat and the fast, uneven strumming did little to quell his worry. “Are you alright?”</p><p>“I fucked up,” his voice was worn, honest, and too soft. The static of the line almost drowned it out completely. It had a slur to it that wasn’t usually present that pointed to either drunkenness or injury. Maes wasn’t sure which option was worse.</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>“It’s really bad, Maes,” he breathed in shakily. “’m only calling so you can at least find out on my terms.”</p><p>He subconsciously clutched the phone tighter. He hung onto every word Ed said, every hint of emotion in his tone, and analyzed it for answers. So far, he’d found nothing but his own quickening heartbeat, still stuck somewhere far in his throat, and a growing sense that something was very, very wrong. </p><p>Scratch that thought. He knew something was off, it had to be, or Ed wouldn’t sound like that. Like he was guilty of some great crime and now awaiting the noose, like he expected Maes to find out that he did something horrible and hate him for it.</p><p>“Ed, just tell me what’s wrong.”</p><p>Ed ignored him, his words growing more frantic. “The ambulance is already on the way, so I can’t talk long-”</p><p>“Are you hurt?”</p><p>“It’s not for me.”</p><p>"Then who?”</p><p>No answer but static. </p><p>“Ed,” He said again, putting more force into his voice this time. “Tell me who it’s for.”</p><p>“He did things to me, Maes. He tried to kill me and I-” Another shallow breath came out closer to a sob than he was sure Ed intended. </p><p>The words made the empathetic part of Maes’s heart tighten and shatter. The blood drummed on even as his world seemed to stop, his throat constricting around the pulse until his worry choked him up. Ed's voice had a kind of audible pain that leaves an impact no matter how strong of a man you think you are, or how much you’ve seen. And Maes had seen a lot in his years. </p><p>But nothing could’ve prepared him for Ed’s next words.</p><p>“I-I shot him.”</p><p>For a moment, Maes was dumbstruck. Years of service had trained him to take stuff like this seriously, as much as he was hoping this was some sort of prank. </p><p>How the hell did Ed even get his hands on a firearm? He was military, but he’d made a big deal out of refusing to carry one when he was asked and frankly, the idea of Edward Elric with a gun was terrifying in any context. </p><p>But that didn’t shock him nearly as much as the fact that Ed had actually used it. That implied that he was in life-threatening danger and that alchemy was out of the question, which was not a scenario that Maes wanted to imagine. </p><p>And he sounded terrified. </p><p>He sounded terrified, and he sounded a little too close to how Roy had when Ishval had ended, hollow and ashamed and revolted at himself.</p><p>He wasn’t sure how to react, but Ed was distressed and something primal, something protective made adrenaline flow through his veins and heated his temper to a barely-collected boil. </p><p>Someone was getting hell to pay for this. Maes didn’t know who they were or what, exactly, they did, but it was out of line and he was going to correct it. Nobody tries to harm somebody close to him and gets away with it, especially not the child he sees as his son. </p><p>“Honey,” Gracia called, peeking her head around the kitchen counter. There was flour on her cheek and her hands were stirring a bowl with a large, wooden spoon. It clanked lightly with each twist of her wrist. He might’ve taken a moment to appreciate how pretty she looked, in a time and place where his nerves weren’t sending anxious shivers down his spine until they pooled in his stomach and made it drop to his toes. “Who is that?”</p><p>“Ed,” He answered quickly, before turning his attention back to the phone. “Are you in a safe location?”</p><p>“What do you think?” Ed snapped. “He’s dead, or he’s going to be. So yeah, I’d say I’m pretty fuckin’ safe <em>now</em>.”</p><p>Maes sighed at his tone, but didn't comment on the harshness of his words. Any other time he wouldn't have let it fly. He may have a bit of a reputation as a pushover, but he did take unnecessary rudeness rather seriously. </p><p>Ed was volatile on a good day, though, and Maes couldn't exactly fault him for lacking manners when he seemed to be at the end of his rope and a little traumatized, at the very least.</p><p>Gracia’s footsteps got closer. She leaned in to listen along with him, still mixing some kind of batter. She let out a small gasp at Ed’s speech, before throwing Maes a confused, incredulous look, demanding an explanation of what was happening. He held a finger up to shush her and furrowed his eyebrows, trying not to let his frustration show, and failing, judging by her shocked expression that turned to a hesitant nod; A silent agreement that she’d wait to batter him with questions until after the call was done.</p><p>A good thing, too, considering how at that moment, he severely lacked answers. </p><p>“Brother, they’re gonna be here soon,” Al’s voice cut in, barely audible, but there. “Do you want me to tell him?”</p><p>“Alphonse is with you?” He asked. There were so many things he was missing and if there was anything Maes hated, it was being left in the dark. This was one of those times where it felt like he was grappling for explanations with absolutely no guidance or clue, and that was terrifying, because hidden details could mean someone gets hurt. </p><p>There was some muffled talking on the other line and Maes could only assume that Ed had covered the receiver so he couldn't hear. That didn't give him any sort of positive emotion, instead making the pit in his stomach that much wider. </p><p>“Just start from the beginning,” Maes said after a moment, leaning his forehead against the cool wall and taking a deep breath in. An effort to steady his nerves and clear his mind that only worked thanks to years of training. Well, that and the reasoning that if he wasn’t as level-headed as possible, Ed might be the one to pay the price.</p><p>There was a delay before the voices became clear again. Ed let out a hollow chuckle. “We’d be here all day if I did that.”</p><p>That was definitely not helping him feel anymore secure. In fact, it gave him the impression that whatever this was had been going on for a while, and he’d failed to stop it. He’d known something was amiss, and he’d apparently not acted in time to prevent it from boiling over, if this was at all linked to how weird the brothers had been acting as of late. He wasn’t naive enough to convince himself this situation had no relation to their behavior, and wasn’t somehow part of a bigger, more horrifying picture.</p><p>“Ed, give me a name. Who tried to hurt you?” Maes asked.</p><p>When Ed spoke, it was hesitant. “You’re not gonna like it.” </p><p>He had the tone of a child who’d been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. It wasn’t the most fitting of analogies, in Maes’s opinion, considering the graveness of the situation, but it gave him an idea of how to fish this out of Ed without making him feel threatened.</p><p>“You’re not in trouble.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“If that’s what you’re worried about,” Maes amended. “There are laws for this stuff, Ed. They won’t arrest you.”</p><p>“... You don’t know that.”</p><p>“I do,” Maes said. “I’ll make some calls to be sure the police know the situation, but first, you have to tell me what happened, okay?”</p><p>“Can you just-” Ed cut himself off. “Can you just come here? Please?”</p><p>There was a lot of stuff Maes could say no to with ease. A request ending in ‘please’ was not one of those things, especially when it sounded as distraught as it did, and especially when it came from someone who never used the word. Up until that moment, Maes hadn’t even thought it was in the boy’s vocabulary.</p><p>“Where are you?”</p><p>“Tucker’s place.”</p><p>
  <em>He’s at his house? </em>
</p><p>Why the hell would Ed be calling from his house? Unless…</p><p>Oh. Oh no.</p><p>“Was it him?”</p><p>The silence was deafening. No more words were spoken, but the boy’s breathing picked up audibly. It broke into gasps and sniffles that sounded suspiciously close to crying.</p><p>It was answer enough. The heat boiling his blood rose in temperature with a new found vengeance. Tucker was damn lucky he was more worried about Ed being okay than taking revenge against him. </p><p>“Ed, honey,” Gracia cut in as she promptly swept the phone from his hands. “I know you’re probably scared right now, but we’ll be there in a bit, okay?”</p><p>“O-Okay,” There were some noises on the other line. Shuffling and voices that Maes could only assume were Ed and his brother, and then Ed was speaking again. “The ambulance is here. We gotta go.”</p><p>“Just stay there until I can get to you, alright?” Maes said.</p><p>“Alright, bye.”</p><p>“Bye.”</p><p>The line clicked.</p><p>Everything after that was a blur of telephone calls and nauseating anxiety. Maes had spent years of his life working in Investigations, cases like this were anything but new to him, and yet he found with each passing second, his worry grew a little more. </p><p>When Maes had arrived at the house after taking the time to alert Mustang to haul ass to Central, he had found the property clear of any sign of Edward or his siblings. Nothing but officers in blue and yellow tape and red blood where the body had been. </p><p>Tucker was transferred to the ICU. His vitals were low and he was very lucky that he wasn’t dead, considering that the bullet missed his heart by less than a centimeter. He was even more lucky that he was long carried off to the hospital by the time Maes arrived. He might’ve finished the job himself, had he seen him.</p><p>There was a severe lack of information. He guessed it was due to the fact that the main witness, Ed, had also been dragged to the hospital for treatment, as he'd been injured. Maes wished he’d been able to get a word in. Ed had demanded to wait for him, but the medics had hauled him off mere minutes before Maes made it to the house. </p><p>The officers on the scene said the boy was jumping between being terrified to actively hostile to apathetic, and then back to terrified. One of the officers had gotten a little too friendly and tried to put a hand on his shoulder in an effort to comfort him. Reportedly, he’d punched the man in the face. </p><p>With that, they were left with Alphonse and Nina, who were both sent to Central Command for questioning. One of which was wary to share anything that might incriminate his brother, and even more wary of adults. The other was, well, a 5 year old, and a slightly traumatized one at that. </p><p>Al had thrown a fit when officers on the scene removed him from Ed’s side, demanding to not be separated from his brother. When they took him to be questioned anyways, he simply refused to speak. He'd said he wanted to give Ed the opportunity to say what happened first, that it wouldn't be fair for him to do it for him. Maes had eventually pulled enough strings to get them to wait to take his statement, and with that, Al had scurried off to the hospital and spent the rest of the evening in the waiting room.</p><p>Suffice to say, they were waiting on Ed’s testimony, who was being treated for what Maes could only assume was a hodgepodge of injuries, as the doctor refused to share any more due to patient confidentiality. He wasn’t allowed any visitors for at least a day. </p><p>And they couldn’t access his medical reports for evidence until the paperwork went through, so once again, it was a matter of waiting for more information.</p><p>It didn’t help that Brigadier General Basque Grand seemed to make it his life mission to put as much red tape around the investigation as possible. He claimed that the case was anything but what it was, his reasoning ranging from Ed being a psychotic, mentally unstable liar to the whole thing being some big, accidental misunderstanding. </p><p>The man was spewing bullshit to save face. Having one of your subordinates involved in domestic abuse was never a good look, even if the details on the events that took place were still hazy, at best. </p><p>It took almost a day to even get the rights to search the premises, despite the fact that they had very obvious probable cause, but it seemed like the higher ups had found something first, or knew something they didn't, and were trying to delay it from getting out. Whatever it was couldn’t be good, he was sure. </p><p>He’d fought tooth and nail for control of the investigation, even though it fell under his jurisdiction, yet another layer of red tape he was sure he could thank Grand for. By the time he had a team doing a sweep of the house for more evidence, Mustang and Co had arrived in the city, and Ed had already been cleared for questioning. </p><p>Maes was hesitant to go through with it, if he was being honest. He couldn’t imagine the boy was in any sort of positive headspace. He’d been too out of it to answer any initial queries the officers who’d first shown up to the scene had asked, according to reports, so Maes had no idea how bad it might be. </p><p>He just hoped it wasn't too traumatizing to talk about. Not just for the sake of the investigation, but for the sake of Ed himself. He already had so many struggles. It wasn’t fair to add more to his plate than what the world had already dished him out, and heartily, at that.</p><p>Ed's past also gave him hope, though, because he was a strong boy who’d come out of hell grinning so many times before, and he always made sure everybody knew how tough he was. He’d get through this, Maes was sure, and if he couldn’t on his own, then Maes was nothing if not pushy and he’d force him to if it came to that.</p><p>So in front of the hospital door room he stood. The smell of antiseptic was strong, wafting through the halls along with hushed voices and nurses footsteps. The linoleum tile and white walls were almost blinding in their brightness. </p><p>Restlessness had long coiled itself in his stomach, furnished the home that anxiety had made a pit out of there, and it reverberated jitters through his body, giving him the distinct urge to <em>just do</em> something. He wished his fidgeting alone would be enough to calm his mind, but unfortunately, the devil that poked around in his brain had other plans. They mostly consisted of making up worst case scenarios and trying to convince him they were absolute truth.</p><p>“Are you sure this is a good idea, sir?” Lieutenant Hawkeye asked, turning to face Roy, who stood beside her. Her posture was as firm and professional as ever, although her voice held a wariness that gave away her anxiety, even if it was slight. </p><p>She’d always been incredible at hiding her emotions, something Maes never particularly strived to master himself, but sometimes wished he made an effort to. Especially at moments like this, when the hammering in his chest was enough to disrupt the level of rationality he was desperately trying to keep up.</p><p>Truthfully, he wanted answers. He’d been wanting answers for weeks now, ever since he first noticed how Ed’s eyes followed his hands. He’d assumed with the boys' history that it was something he picked up when he was younger, rather than a recent habit. </p><p>Maes got the feeling that he’d been gravely mistaken. Not just with that, but with every write-off of odd behaviors that he composed for himself. A series of interconnected explanations that made so little sense, in the face of a glaring and obvious truth. </p><p>No, those had been signs of abuse, that he was sure of now. Even if they didn’t know the severity yet, it was enough to leave the boy shaken, and it was enough to drive him to shoot someone.</p><p>So yes, he definitely wanted answers. And judging by the way Roy quickly waved off Hawkeye's concern, his best friend felt the same.</p><p>He reached forward and put a hand on the door handle. It was cold beneath his grip. Sleek, hard metal, and he used the sensation as a stake to ground himself with. With an investigation to go through with and a child to comfort, there was no room for deep, steadying breaths, or seconds to use to collect himself. Those seconds could end up being wasted moments, and he couldn't afford to be anything less than stingy with his time, when there was this much on the line. </p><p>He twisted the handle and entered immediately, an easy smile plastered on his face in a way he could only hope was disarming. He didn't want to be pulling teeth with this if it could be avoided, and he definitely didn't want Ed under the impression that he was upset with him. </p><p>The smell of antiseptic. His heart in his throat. All things that looking back, he could barely recall.</p><p>Because the truth had been so much worse than he’d ever imagined, and it took up every inch of his memory when it came to that period of his life.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello everyone!! I'm not dead lmao, but I ended up having to take a few weeks off for personal reasons. Mostly getting my wisdom teeth pulled and then having a massive bout of burnout. </p><p>With that, I'm unsure of when the next update will be. I keep trying to pace myself on a schedule, but I always go too fast or too slow, so I'm hesitant to make promises lol. </p><p>I'll probably post over on my Tumblr @cxcarmen if something comes up, along with normal fandom stuff, so feel free to pop in over there if you want.</p><p>With that, I hope you all have a lovely day &lt;333</p>
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